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Dangerous to Digestion (humorous)
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Dangerous to Digestion (humorous) |
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tricklesNmarbles New Member
since 2003-04-03
Posts 7Indiana |
Dangerous to Digestion You take one look at the burger, piled high with beans or beef (whichever you prefer), and you say to yourself, “there is no possible way that people eat this.” Yes, a taco burger—a food so bad that even homeless people won’t eat it. A taco burger is definitely an acquired taste, taste developed only when there is nothing left to eat and your stomach is grumbling for food. At my house, taco burgers were served for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. They are soggy like a diaper and artificial like my mom’s hair color, yet they really hit the spot. Medicinal is not how I’d describe the dish, although the chilies that top it have long been regarded as a powerful stimulant and aid to digestion. Eaten together with beans, however, their effect is both noisy and stinky. Tortured by the effect of the combination, I have since banished our household from eating them. Taco burgers carry with them more than a smell or taste, but their own reputation, memories, and their own life. At my house, the traditional meal of spaghetti and meatballs was non-existent when it came near the end of a pay period. Taco burgers were the three-course meal we ate for about five days straight until my parents caught up with the finances. Piled high with beans or beef, topped with half the cheese necessary for a normal taco burger, and placed onto a generic hamburger bun, taco burgers were cost-effective and easy to prepare. When my mother would overcook the hamburger buns in the oven, the sogginess of the bun was sometimes replaced by the taste of an unrolled cardboard toilet paper tube that would make eating the dish more difficult. On a particular taco burger evening, my mother pulled out the dusty candles hiding away in the curio cabinet and placed them on the kitchen table. My mother always attempted to create an illusion that something was better than it seemed. Maybe this was her way to stay optimistic, or maybe this was a way to create an atmosphere where her children never felt they were without. The idea that bringing out the candles and china could take away any thoughts of disconcertment that might fill our minds really seemed rather cynical to me. Maybe it was my anger knowing that for the next week or two my family and I would be consuming an abundant amount of taco burgers and tuna, or maybe it was knowing that we were actually without yet still hiding under the mask that we weren’t. Taco burger night, to my siblings, was an extravagant event. My sister would slip into her velvet Easter dress, which still had left over taco burger remnants on it from last month’s taco burger night, and trot down the stairs, head held high, as if she were saying, we are the richest family in the world. Playing along with the meal, I, also, would dress up in my itchy, wool Easter dress---a dress that we had found at Pick-n-Pay while rummaging through the $2.99 rack. My mother obviously had everyone fooled into thinking that taco burgers were for rich families only, and we were blessed to be able to eat such a substance. I, on the other hand, knew otherwise. My parents never spoke about finances in front of us, nor did they ever make us feel like we had to be without, but somehow I was able to figure out that when the taco burgers were brought out, our finances had gotten low. To my utter dismay, my mother would invite my friends over on taco burger night. After my mother would leave the room, I’d convince my friends that my mother had no idea how to cook, and whatever she was making they would dislike. The idea that my friends would see me in my Pick-n-Pay Easter dress, proud to be eating taco burgers by candlelight, was something I never wanted to experience. Letting my friends know that I was without was something I was not ready to deal with. Mind you, my friends weren’t wearing some over-priced jeans and name-brand shoes; they were wearing things that their parents had gotten at the corner thrift store or at a garage sale. As a child and even as an adult, everyone likes to feel that they have something. The items don’t have to be materialistic, it could be a close-knit family or a skill in playing basketball, but something that is tangible, that everyone can see and observe, and say, “Wow, I wish I had that.” Knowing this, I knew that bringing my friends over on taco burger night would enable them to see that my family was without. I thought once they left my house they would ridicule me for my family nights, crowded around the china, eating a sloppy taco burger. Although my friends have never actually had to sit back, fork another bite down, smile, and attempt to conceal any gagging, spitting, or dry-heaving that comes with eating a taco burger, I still would strongly recommend never attempting to consume this dish. As far as my mother knew, taco burgers were my favorite food to eat. I never said anything, and I simply tried to find new ways to get my dish to the garbage without her noticing. Growing up, my parents were hard workers, both working forty hours a week, if not longer, struggling to put food on the table, a roof over our heads, and an advanced education. My father would work extra shifts just so he could pay for that private school education, and my mother would swallow her pride to ask the church if she could have some canned food to bring home to us. I still remember our Christmas’, filled with the smell of pumpkin pies, surrounded by the people who loved us. I can’t tell you what I got each Christmas, but I can tell you that I never remember feeling like we were without. Whether we were eating taco burgers that Christmas, or we were munching on a ham, I always felt that we should be proud of whom we are and what we have. My mother still attempts to bring taco burgers back to life once every few months. She’ll surprise my siblings and I with a few burgers stacked on the china, surrounded by candlelight, smiling from ear to ear, proud of her so-called masterpiece. I still continue with our routine, minus the wool Easter dress, of course, acting as if the meal is some prestigious, something no one else has. Now, though, these meals have meaning behind them. I am now able to look back on my past and realize how much my parents have sacrificed to get where we are today. The taco burgers, although disgusting, represented more than just a food. The meal brought together a family whose levels of poverty, however relevant they may be, weren’t placed on a pedestal for everyone to feel sorry about. Viewing negative aspects of one’s life with optimism can make problems seem almost non-existent. My mother understood this theory and applies it to her everyday life continually. Although the burger represents a larger picture, I still can’t handle the aroma that fills the kitchen, the texture of the soggy hamburger bun, and the after-taste the taco burger leaves once prepared and eaten. I have since grown up, and even though I still don’t enjoy taco burgers, I would definitely invite my friends over for a sit down dinner, wearing their Sunday best, of course, surrounded by the illumination of candlelight, all the while eating a scrumptious taco burger. My mother has taught me that no matter what class level you are living on, no matter how much or how little you have, you can make the best of what you have. Living life every day wallowing in your misery is like eating a taco burger without a bun (which although would be Atkins approved) it would definitely not be complete without that moist bun. |
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miscellanea Member Elite
since 2004-06-24
Posts 4060OH |
Melissa, I enjoyed your humor a lot and the wisdom your mother had. Thanks for teaching me a bit. miscellanea |
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Larry C
since 2001-09-10
Posts 10286United States |
Mellissa, Now that was a fun write. Though I was raised a vegetarian we too had our ways of ruining a good meal when times were tough! Thanks for sharing your wisdom about life and especially in the context of your family.  If tears could build a stairway and memories a lane, I'd walk right up to heaven and bring you home again. |
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Kethry Member Rara Avis
since 2000-07-29
Posts 9082Victoria Australia |
I could relate to the beans part. We had baked beans whenever money was tight. I can remember my mother sending me to the shop to buy bones for the dog, she would then boil; them and makes a soup which we ate with beans. Thanks for your story. It brought back a lot of good memories. Here in the midst of my lonely abyss, a single joy I find...your presence in my mind. Unknown |
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