Thursday, 24 February 2011

How many shrooms are too many?

At what point does an occasional partaking of a magic mushroom snack become a runaway train?  Even when an occasional partaking becomes an unconditional love, it's still relatively harmless, right? 

So at what point does the urge to enjoy surpass the capacity to resist

Maybe I should take this opportunity to clarify that I'm not referring to magic mushrooms in the hallucinatory stroke-the-furry-wall kind of way, rather, the normal buy-them-daily-and-eat-them-with-every-meal kind of way. 

Oh wait. 

Maybe that's not normal. 

I used to really dislike mushrooms.  I always wanted to like them, but I could never really tolerate them.  Then when Hubby and I moved in together I started branching out.  Only a little bit.  I put them in sauce.  Mushrooms in spaghetti sauce was ok.  

Years passed that way.  Mushrooms in sauce.  Year after year.  

Hubby continued to enjoy them, of course.  He'd buy those little white mushrooms and mix them with onions and eat them with his steak. 

Don't think he didn't try to push them on me.  "C'mon. Just try one. How can you not want to?"

And I always resisted.  With wide eyes and a shaking head.     

But at some point in the last few months - I don't even know when - I must have given in.  I must have, at some point, tried one.  Probably just one.  Probably just off the side of his plate or something.  He probably offered it to me.  And I probably thought:  "Fine.  What the hell.  Why not."

And since then it's all just a blur.  A mushroom-induced downhill fog leading to my daily rush to the grocery store after work.  You know, for my fix

White, cremini, and - my favourite - portabello.  Mmmmm.  Portabello.  "I'll just get one.  Well, might as well get two - one for tonight and one for lunch tomorrow." 

I have a whole ritual.  Warm the pan.  Melt the butter.  Add the garlic.  And slow cook those mo-fos until they've achieved juicy and flavourful perfection.

And now I've started to notice the signs of an unhealthy mushroom-eating frequency.  Not physically unhealthy (because you can't argue with the nutritional value of mushrooms), but mentally unhealthy (because you can't deny the problem when Hubby says "Mmm, those mushrooms are good", and you shout "No!  Don't eat those!  I need them for work tomorrow!" in reply).

I don't know how I got to this point.  I can't identify the individual steps that have led to my demise. 

And what a really can't figure out is how I lived so long without them. 



  1. Oooooh, neither of us like them in this house.

    And being veggie, I hate it when the vegetarian meal option is a stuffed mushroom. Makes me gag.

    You should go to your doctor and tell him you have a fungus problem. tee hee.

    Seriously?... Reeeally??... Seriously?


  2. I would, but there's no methadone of the shroom world. What if the doctor makes me quit cold turkey?! I'm so not ready for that.