I don't have mush room in my life for mushrooms.

Ask anyone and they'll tell you that I don't like mushrooms. Honestly, ask anyone. It's a well known fact. 


When I was younger, I remember crying and crying because my Mom was making me eat all of the mushrooms that I'd left on my plate after dinner. She wasn't a cruel Mother. She'd promised a surprise that I would love more than anything if I ate every single last one. Under much duress and after a lot of crying (crying seems to be a common theme around here these days) I ate them all. And the prize was worth. Tickets to see Steps in concert. And although the prize was sweet, the taste in my mouth however, was not. I hated the taste, smell, look and most of all the texture. Like juicy slugs that your teeth slice right through. 


This little anecdote let's you know that my dislike of mushrooms has been a lifelong passion. That's right. Lifelong and a passion. 


It's hard work to keep up a disliking for something like mushrooms. They can be conspicuous little beasts. If your truly going to be a disliker of mushrooms, you have to be committed. And prepared to thoroughly search through any pizza or pasta dish to find any that you Mom has tried to hide in there. And you have to be willing to make extra washing up for yourself when you have to have a designated mushroom bowl to put the monsters into when you do find one, because true dislikers can't even stand to have them on the same plate.


But over the last few months something strange has been happening. Like a wall in my mind has slowly been taken down, brick by mushroomy brick. It's not that I've been continually eating mushrooms and forcing myself to just get over it and like them, but it's more like I've been warming to the thought of them. I've been telling myself that surely they're not that bad. 


Last week at Pizza Hut I proved myself right. I unknowlingly ate a little mushroom on a pizza and actually thought to myself "hmm, not so bad." I couldn't really comment on the texture because I think the poor mushroom had been cooked to within an inch of it's life. It probably would have turned to dust had it been in the oven for five minutes more. But whatever. Another mushroomy brick from my mental wall came crashing down. In pizza hut of all places.


So this week, I decided to bite the bullet. I bought some chestnut mushrooms and decided to put them in a pasta dish I was planning on making.


It was the pasta's turn today. 


And guess what? (Momma, get ready to be proud of me!) I still hate them. Just kidding. C'est un blague. I willingly ate a whole bowlful of mushrooms. Well, I had to have some pasta, bacon and leek in my mouth at the same time, but I did it. I-Did-It. This is a proud moment of self mastery for me that I honestly felt needed to be documented, shared and even proclaimed. 


If I can eat mushrooms, I can do anything.