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Discussion Starter · #1 ·
Here is something I wrote regarding a childhood meal I did/do NOT like. :cig :lol


I couldn't run. I couldn't hide. It was inevitable that I was to be served the dish come supper time. The steaming, stinking casserole was sitting on the counter, taunting me. It was there, and I could not get away. It was supper time.

Now usually I wouldn't dread the supper hour; most of the time the meals were quite enjoyable. But this day I was sweating and groaning for that time. I could not avoid today's dish.

Ranch Pie was about to be served.

You might say, Oh God! Ranch Pie! You poor child. Were there at least any bread sticks, or a side dish of salad that you could munch on instead?

No. When we had a casserole, that was it. That was all you got unless you wandered into the kitchen later that night to fix a sandwich. Otherwise, it was that until breakfast the next morning.

The ranch pie was set out, and everybody moaned and tried to flee the house. The smell was there - it was time to eat.

No I wasn't in a lockdown prison with 2 meals of bread and water and then this ranch pie as torture every supper time, I was in my family home
enjoying a dinner.

We all sat down, and were served a very large helping. I couldn't have been more than seven years old, and there I was, at the spot closest to
the wall staring at this dish that seemed to stare back up at me.

People started eating, as I stared around the table wondering just how
they could put this vile food into their mouthes. I knew that this dish was nobody's favorite, but there it was, my fork in hand.

I stabbed the fork into the hard cheese on the top, trying to convince myself that the cheese would make it edible. Cheese is good right? The cheese is so hard that it separates from the rest of the contents beneath. Or lord, shouldn't have done that.

The cheese sits on one side, and the rest of it sits on the other side. The "cover" is off, and the bottom is steaming. Slimy peas, and corn sit smothered in some sort of white sauce. What is this white sauce?

I start picking at it. Maybe I should just go in and get it over with.
My fork stabs into the sloppy mess and I get a forkfull.

Here goes nothing.. The slop touches my tongue.

It's the end of the world.

Fighting back nausea I swallow the stuff like I'm on a Fear Factor episode and then immediately go for the glass of milk that is sitting on
my right.

From then on, I know that I am never going to make myself suffer that much again.

Ranch Pie is the devil.

I'm told to finish my supper because the others have finished (sort of.)
People are starting to leave the table.

The dishes are being clanged around, ready for cleaning. Some of them are cleared off the table. I am still sitting there, wanting to dash out of the house and run to California, making a new name for myself.

Suddenly a voice tells me the dreaded, "You're going to sit there until you finish your plate." Oh Lord. Well I already know that I'm not going to stuff any of this back into my mouth, so the only thing I have to deal with is having this dish stare at me until my bedtime.

It moved. I SWEAR it moved.

7 o'clock rolls around and the dishes have been completely.. almost all of the dishes. My plate is sittng there right in front of me, untouched. My milk is finished, so even if I wanted to have more, there is no safety net.

8 o'clock beckons.. The family is enjoying their family tv shows, and the Pie stares at me. The peas are starting to look like eyes.

9 o'clock comes and I'm told to go to bed.


Never Again.
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