Never say never?
What do spaghetti meat sauce and mixing sweet hard liquor with ice cream have in common? Think on it a moment.
From an early age, I scarfed down chicken grilled and basted with my dad’s barbecue sauce. I followed up with my own version of his sauce for turkey breast and pork ribs once we started grilling regularly at our apartment. When I don’t feel like making the sauce myself, the husband and I head for one of two local barbecue joints.
Or should I say, we did.
Back to that original question. Do you see where I’m going with this?
I will never smell spaghetti meat sauce without thinking of the last really bad stomach bug I experienced when I was thirteen, hours after a Mom’s homemade spaghetti with meat sauce dinner. I will never think about having a milkshake* without thinking of how I threw up after consuming an alcoholic milkshake during a night of heavy drinking when I was in my early twenties.
And right now, I can’t think of barbecue without thinking about how sick I got later that night in December. Even though the food had nothing to do with the pelvic abscess, it was the last solid food I had before surgery and being limited to IV fluids and then a liquid diet. Only about an hour after eating barbecue, I spiked a fever and became extremely dizzy and nauseous.
The husband doesn’t get it. I don’t get it.
Perhaps I could get back into the idea if I make my own barbecue sauce again. On chicken, like my dad used to do. Think of positive memories instead of this negative one. Time will tell, I suppose.
*A Wendy’s Frosty doesn’t count as a milkshake. You don’t drink it with a straw – you eat it with a spoon.