6

My mom's roommate from college, Melinda, had invited my family over for dinner on a Saturday night. We accepted her invitation and eagerly waited to see my mom's old friend. When we arrived at the house, we stepped out of the car, and I smoothed my skirt and adjusted my blouse. My mom wore a dress, which is quite unusual, and my dad wore a pinstriped, collared shirt with his nicest cuff-links. We rang the doorbell, and were greeted inside by Melinda. "I thought I'd make dinner myself for the occasion," she said with a smile lighting her face. "I don't know if you will like it. If you don't, we can just order a pizza."
"I'm sure we'll love it," Mom replied.
"Oh, well I hope so," muttered Melinda. She gestured to the table and we all took a seat in a wooden chair. Melinda walked to the oven and carried a large pan from the rack with her flowered oven mitts. "Now I ask that you at least try it," she said as she placed the tray on the table. That was when the smell hit me. The odor was like someone had shoved a cow's intestines up my nose. I tried my best not to gag at the horrible stench that had now reached my parents. They put on their best smile despite the horrible smell wafting in the kitchen. "Oh, so you cooked this yourself?" asked Mom.
"Yes. It's an old family recipe. My parents are from Germany, and they taught me how to make this German stew. It took me all day to prepare. I started it at nine this morning."
"Looks wonderful," my mom replied as convincingly as humanly possible. Melinda handed me a spoon, and I waited for my parents to explain to her that I would not eat the grotesque meal. This explanation never came. I finally built the courage to look down at the food. The first thing I noticed was the whole dish was one color. Brown. I then saw the various meats floating in the thick gravy-like pudding used for flavor. Small bubbles surfaced from the hot dish; each one was a mucky brown with darker brown running through it in what looked like veins. The dumplings in the casserole looked like horse poop, but a lighter brown.
My dad snatched my spoon and scooped a glob of this on my plate. I nearly cried as it splattered onto my white blouse. "I almost forgot the salad!" Melinda exclaimed. She rushed to the kitchen and came out with an opaque bowl.
"Yes!" I thought. "Salad!" I could eat salad instead of the swamp of tan horse poop!
"Here's my beet salad!" Melinda called as she set the bowl of red veggies on the table. I had never eaten a beet before and I didn't plan on starting.
''Honey," try the dumplings. They're... interesting," my mom said to me. I nudged my food around on my plate to make it look like I had eaten some. I knew my attempt had failed when Melinda asked if I was going to eat any of it. I told her yes, and I made a deal with myself to toughen up for four bites.
I stabbed a piece of the casserole with my fork and lead it to my mouth with my eyes closed. Shoving the fork into my mouth, I encountered my first taste of the gruesome flavor. It tasted like and old man's hairy foot and had the texture of an earthworm with a swollen body. I swallowed quickly in hopes it would rid my mouth of the taste, but when it didn't I chugged a whole glass of water. That's one.
I took another piece, a smaller one this time, and tried to force it into my mouth, but my hand wouldn't move. I brought my mouth to the fork and bit into the next piece. The flavor was twice as awful that time, and I had trouble swallowing. That's two. When I finally got it down, I was brave enough to shove another scoop down my throat. I grabbed my mom's water and drank her whole glass. That's three.
I took one more section of casserole from the plate. I was still recovering from the last three bites, but I forced the fork into my mouth. This bite was the worst of all. I had picked a chunk of pork that had a big blob of fat in it. When I bit down, I felt the slimy texture. This overwhelmed me, and I spit the last bite back onto my plate. My parents and Melinda looked at me in horror. "That's four," I murmured.