On Wednesday night the husband and I went out to dinner here with his clients that I had never met before.
We arrived early and ordered a couple of drinks – the bartender made some sort of pineapple, tamarindo martini for me and some sort of habanero martini for Craig. Delicious.
The clients arrive – we decide to sit outside.
Menus are handed out – the waiter explains we can order from the menu or do the chef’s choice/wine pairing.
Now, please keep in mind that I was a meatless eater for eight years. (We started eating meat again when I was trying to get pregnant for Lila… I was grasping at straws and we wondered if eating meat would have somehow helped me get pregnant.)
As far as adventurous eating goes, I’ve had mussels and snails and oysters.
I have not eaten any sort of insects, innards of animals or lamb chops. I cannot handle pulling apart chicken or stuffing turkeys.
I just cannot.
So, we all decided to do the chef’s choice/wine pairing.
“Do any of you have any dietary restrictions?”
Only later did I realize that my dietary restrictions are more emotional than physical.
The dinner started out with quail.
It was the teeniest, tiniest little small bones I have ever seen on a “piece of meat.”
And I ate it.
I ate this.
And I ate duck.
I seriously, 24 hours later, feel like I need to repent.
Never, never again.
I cannot do that again.
I just can’t.
I got into the car and told Craig that I will never do that again.
I wanted to throw up post-dinner, however the idea of seeing teeny tiny bird meat for the second time wasn’t too thrilling, so I just went to bed.