I pretty much like all foods. I mean, almost. After I got over cilantro tasting like dish soap, and beets tasting like dirt (they still do, but now I don’t mind), the only thing left that I really don’t like to eat is:

Cooked green peppers. [horror-movie reverb font]

They remind of school lunch. Even at parts per billion, they manage to contaminate a whole dish, and make it taste…cheap, or something.

So I’m feeling a little anxious about going to Cajun-land tomorrow, where every recipe seems to start, “First, you saute your green peppers…”

There’ s a major disconnect here: I can’t imagine that an entire cuisine is actually going to be disgusting to me. I mean, it has hundreds of years of tradition and love behind it–how can it be bad? How can it really taste like spaghetti day in 1981 at A. Montoya Elementary?

But what if I’m served a big bowl of gumbo by some smiling old woman, who’s been slaving at a hot stove for decades…and I really just don’t like it?

I’m keeping an open mind. Believe me, I want to shake this negative association. I assume it’s just like getting used to guitar feedback. I just need to eat the Pixies, rather than, say, Whitesnake. Uh, right?

Meanwhile, this new post from Dan Baum, complete with photos of plump fried oysters, convinces me I’m doing the right thing by going, and facing my demons. It’s not like I’ll starve.

(Also, a Google map I made, based on assorted recommendations–any other suggestions?)