Last week, I bought raspberries. Out of season, yes, but delicious looking, none the less and I was oh-so happy to be washing them up for an evening snack. I was, in my rather anal retentive way, rinsing each lovely little berry individually while giving it a cursory once-over and contemplating just how yummy each one would be. I didn’t even taste test any, as I usually do: I was going for the whole denial-of-pleasure-makes-it-better-in-the-end thing.
And, just as I was nearly done, there, in the hollow of a particularly scrumptious looking fruit was a huge, hairy, ass-end of a hexapod. I say hexapod, because at that point I took a rather hissing intake of breath to stifle the scream, dropped the berry in the sink, did the holy-shit-I-could-have-eaten-that dance around the kitchen and promptly garburated the bugger. As such, I have no more information as to his real identity, other than that it was a bug. A huge assed bug.
Several months ago [though it still feels like yesterday], I had the unfortunate chance to come across a moth in my washed, ready-to-use spinach as I was doling some out into my spaghetti sauce.
While some people may find it amusing, or even tasty, to eat bugs, I am not one of them. I know they end up ground up in my factory produced food, but I can’t see them so I don’t have to think about it. In the mean time, I’m picking through all my veggies like I lost my contact.
I bought a different brand of raspberries this week. Mr.Q will be washing them.