Once when we were in Hong Kong, we ate sushi so fresh the fish wiggled on our plates as our waiter served us.
What’s even more amazing, this sight thrilled me and I savored that fish.
Before I met Bovey, I rarely ate seafood and when I did it was usually beer battered and deep fried.
Considering my mom raised me on pot roast and biscuits, it’s amusing to me that I even tried sushi at all.
I thank my wife, Bovey, for turning me on to a whole new world of food over the last seventeen years.
Not that it was difficult to expand my food horizons. Before I met Bovey I pretty much lived on Corn Flakes and red meat.
Not only did Bovey, who is Chinese, expose me to the world of Asian cuisine, she’s a much more adventurous eater than me, which pushes me to try new things.
Yet I draw the line at chicken feet. I’ve watched Bovey devour this delicacy for years but I don’t put anybody’s feet in this face.
Once when I was in first grade in Kentucky, one of my classmates brought pigs feet to school for lunch. You want to clear a lunch room table, pull pigs feet out of your Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs lunch box and watch everyone scramble for the exits.
After everyone scattered, Mindy sat by herself and twisted off the top of the mayonnaise jar, where the feet — a pasty white, kind of pinkish color — floated in a murky soup like a Damien Hirst sculpture.
One by one she ate them as naturally as eating cornbread.
While she chewed the toes, our first grade teacher, Mrs. Downing, whispered, “Mindy wants attention. Just ignore her.”
Which was hard, because who can resist the spectacle of a red-haired pixie, tearing into a pig’s foot?
Probably my favorite foods I’ve discovered with Bovey are steamed buns. When she introduced these to me, I ate them until I got sick, especially the ones with a creamy egg filling or the ones filled with barbecued pork.
When we went to the Asian grocery store in the Strip District in Pittsburgh, I grabbed a cart and ran straight to the frozen food isle, mowing down anyone in my way.
I ripped open the freezer door and filled the cart with the egg cream buns as if I thought they offered eternal life.
Every morning I’d get up and put our wok on the stove with some water and a bamboo basket and steam the buns and eat them for breakfast.
But it took me a long time to venture out from my preference for beef or Corn Flakes and try these new foods.
Early on, when Bovey and I went to Japanese restaurants, she ordered sushi and I normally ordered a steaming hot plate of teriyaki steak.
This went on for a few years until one day, tired of Bovey’s cajoling, I tried a California roll and was transported.
I opened my eyes and realized, there is a god and her flesh is a California roll.
To protect the innocent, I changed some names in this essay.