You know how when people say, “You’ll just have to learn to love it,” and you roll your eyes because of how much sure you are of yourself that you are forever to despise whatever that thing is. Well, if there’s anything college has taught me, is that you can’t get picky. Especially when we’re talking about what to eat.
When there are moments that you want to eat something decent but you don’t really want to empty your budget.
There is a seriousness when it comes to the dilemma I get whenever I decide to eat somewhere. I have to admit, I can be a picky eater. You can ask my mom that because I eat like a 7 year old. I hate the green and healthy (The only vegetable that my mouth and my gut finds acceptable are potatoes. The rest, I either leave them on my plate or eat them without chewing.)
Also, in the family there is this weird sickness that my mom and I share. It’s those random meals when we just—out of nowhere, have this urge to throw up. No it’s not because we hated the food or we’re allergic on something. This sickness is such a mystery that I find it hard trying to talk it out with my friends.
But just because I am a picky eater that doesn’t mean that I am those stereotyped annoying friend who just stands in the corner while her friends are pigging out in some shabby eatery because she’s allergic to everything.
Okay, before I continue let me just remind you of something about these types of friends. It’s annoying, yes. BUT WE DON’T REALLY HAVE TO HATE THEM FOR WHAT THEY DON’T LIKE. I mean, so what if they don’t want to try something out. So what if their choices are different from yours. Why would you force someone to do something that they are uncomfortable of? Yeah it may be a super fun thing to everyone else and that y’all think that that person is some kind of a bitch for declining and disagreeing to it. But you know what? Why not just respect that person’s preference and just stop hating. And you might think that you’re being this great friend who’s gonna change someone’s life by, i don’t know, peer pressuring them. Because you don’t force, you let that person decide.
So where was I?
Right. So yah I choose the food I eat based on the taste and not on how or where or the price it’s made. And there’s this one particular dish in a local Japanese bistro right outside the university that drives my friends and colleagues crazy.
It’s called the butadon.
I haven’t got a picture of what it actually looked like but I’m telling you it does not look like the ones on the google images when you search it. The presentation does not look appetizing at all because it’s basically a bowl consisted of small chunks of pork, rice and some veggies all swimming in a ramen soup. And atop of that you get to pour this weird looking sauce that does not smell nice.
For months, ever since the popularity of that Japanese bistro rose in our small group, I had no choice but to respect the unanimous decision of where to eat lunch. I had to endure the awful soggy texture it had because of too much soup. And what I don’t understand is how much people would demand extra soup. Like what is wrong with you. The ingredients are hardly recognizable anymore.
And I had to stay because the economy is dropping day by day in my weekly allowance. I had to make cuts so I could save at least 30%.
But as time passed and the times we spent on that place were more often, I slowly and painfully became used to the taste of butadon. Until it came to the point where I was craving for one. Of course I still didn’t love the taste. It was still mushy as ever plus the original cook mysteriously disappeared and was replaced by his apprentices so it tasted differently. But the familiarity and satisfaction you feel from eating it is the biggest mystery of all.
More mysterious than my family’s puzzling sickness or the vanishing Japanese chef.