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#09

Friday, August 19, 2005

Cow me

My tongue is sore. It would appear that keeping me hungry is unwise. Having only a slice of pizza to tide me from morning till five in the afternoon, I ploughed through a big serving of hot tomato soup in a bread bowl. Now even eating bananas hurt.

Food has always been a constant in the family. And I've always eaten fast. My Grandmama recalls how when I was a kid, I ate my porridge (lovingly boiled full of meaty, carrot and fishy yumminess) without chewing enough and how I made my demands for continuous spoonfuls. I only remember the feeling, that nagging tug of impatience and hunger as I was told to chew and swallow first. My five-year old world then focused on a hovering spoon with a narrow, bewildered intensity, already questioning the wisdom of adults.

A few years back, I hit a rough patch. In my haste to get the food down, I was swallowing rice that wasn't chewed. It felt as though I was trying to ram a fist down my oesophagus. Or a freight train. I'd actually pause at the table, wheezing and spluttering in muted agony, at the mercy of rice grains.

I was warned about fish bones but anything consumed at high velocity becomes dangerous. Or at least, incredibly painful.

I'm not sure whether my chewing technique has improved or that my insides have somehow undergo miraculous overnight evolution to endure my speedy food consumption habits. I finish before everyone else (not all guys, of course, but some) and begin my study of others' eating habits; whether they insist on picking every bit of their sandwich apart using utensils or trying all the given sauces ('Dude, I think that's ginger, not garlic.')

And yes, scalded tongue. Still eating.

en at 11:04 pm

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