I knew I was growing up when I started liking mushrooms.
Long gone were the days of making a face and saying, “Ew. They smell like dirty dishwater” — (they really do). Now, seeing sautéed mushrooms in a dish tips the scale in favor of that entrée: Sautéed Mushrooms vs. the Rest of the Menu.
Never did I think this day would come, and if it did, I assumed it would have crept up on me well past fifty years old.
But no. I love mushrooms.
Maturity is liking mushrooms, and I realized around this time that my entire palate had evolved to enjoy a whole new array of odd flavors, like bleu cheese. BLEU CHEESE. I loved unpopular food more than ever, especially those weird vegetables that taste good because they taste bad (similar to airplane food — no, I will not explain myself).
This mushroom-loving epiphany was placed somewhere betwixt fashion and personality along my timeline of self-growth. Simply liking mushrooms was not just liking mushrooms: I had also begun to dare to wear the style I had always dreamed of wearing; I was experimenting, exploring, eccentric, extraordinary; I was discovering my personality, sans the personalities of others; I was growing into me, becoming more of a true individual, understanding my own convictions and ideals; I was getting comfortable with who I am when I’m alone.
Maturing is liking mushrooms, and all of the unpopular foods, and all of the odd clothes, and all of the peculiar corners of myself. Maturing is being okay with all of my own tastes, flavors, and styles. Not everybody had to like mushrooms, because it was enough that I did —
— and I do love me some mushrooms.
