Earlier this week, I sat fingers deep in a chicken wing, lovingly prepared and air-fried by my love, and the moment struck me.
I paused. I looked at the food I cradled in my hands. Over to my partner. Back to the wing below. And I couldn’t help but smile.
If I could compare my evolution since moving to NYC to something tactile…
It would be going from eating only chicken breast with a fork to now eating chicken wings, bones and all.
It might help to give some context of just how big this shift is for me. It’s a story my immediate family on my mom’s side loves to tell to make fun of me and to show what a baby I was when it came to food…
I can laugh now, but the moment was very traumatizing.
Chicken caesar salads have been among my favorite meals for decades. This is thanks to the delicious chicken caesar made by the in-house restaurant at the hotel we always stayed at in San Diego when we visited—The Westgate. The first time I ever ate it, I was sold and I wanted to marry the salad. Favorite meal in the world. Thinly sliced chicken breast on top of parmesan-sprinkled romaine with freshly made caesar dressing. It was the bomb.
Then, during a San Diego visit several years later, I made to order my favorite meal, excitement brimming through my being to have it again, only to see that it wasn’t even on the menu anymore. My heart broke. I had really wanted that salad. But the server said they could put together a chicken caesar salad for me anyway—they had the ingredients. And hope was restored!
Until it came out.
On the bed of romaine was a full-boned rotisserie-style chicken. Not the beautifully sliced chicken breast that usually tops caesar salads. The whole dang CHICKEN. From the breastplate down, with all four limbs still attached.
The world slowed down and my heart rate sped up. My breathing came in shallow bursts and my stomach churned in horror as my appetite disappeared.
I lost it. I was legitimately horrified. At that white-topped table in that very nice restaurant, I had a panic attack, probably my very first.
WHO MAKES CHICKEN CAESARS LIKE THIS?
You’d have thought they put a live chicken in front of me and told me that I had to pluck it and cook it myself before I could eat it. That’s how extreme my response was.
Y’all… I cried. Like full-on cried.
Vaguely I remember my family asking them to take it away and to cut up the chicken. I hardly remember even eating what they returned.
That chicken scarred me. For life.
Bone-in chicken, or bone-in anything really, has never, ever been my style. It started after sinking my teeth into a KFC drumstick as a four-year old and I was similarly freaked out. I swore off bones from then on—only chicken nuggets and chicken tenders for me if it wasn’t chicken breast.
And it wasn’t even just that. I grew up with a very limited palate, and my childhood menu didn’t venture too far from mac & cheese, ramen, cereal, toast, PBJs, McD’s, burgers, hot dogs, tacos, etc. Like a true white girl from suburbia, I didn’t even like it when my stepdad would add sauce to his grilled chicken. I would only eat it with salt and pepper, max.
It took a long time, into my twenties, before I started trying or even enjoying new or unfamiliar foods…
Then… I moved to New York. I met my beloved. And, truthfully, he has expanded my world in more ways than I can count, even beyond the ways New York has forced me to face myself and grow up. At the beginning of our courtship, I even remember a couple of moments when I asked him to cut around the bone/fat for me because I just couldn’t. Kind of embarrassing to admit, but it’s the truth!
And just this week…
I was eating chicken wings, with all the bones in. Pulling the wing apart from the drumstick myself (that part was new), using my fork to dig out the meat until there were a few spots where my teeth would do the job easier.
(My other qualm with chicken wings was the messiness. I didn’t like getting the sauces and seasonings all over my hands and I much preferred utensils wherever possible.)
Then I gave up on the fork entirely and went all in to the other two wings on my plate.
Now it’s not the first time I’ve had bone-in wings; I’ve tried nibbles off my partner’s plate here and there. But it was the first time I said a full-bodied YES to wings and opted to just dive in, fingers, bones, and all.
He said he was proud of me. Heck, I was proud of me too!
I like to think this happened I stopped being afraid of trying new foods. New flavors. New cuisines. And I became more open to expanding my taste buds and horizons, thanks to the variety of foods around me in this metropolitan mecca of endless restaurants…
For how do you know if you like or enjoy something if you don't actually try it?
Sidebar: One of my new favorites this year is Caribbean Roti—OMG, have you tried Roti? It changed my life, highly recommend.
And it probably helped that I have a partner who’s a fantastic cook who challenges me to try new things in a loving and supportive way (thanks, babe!).
Honestly, I got a lot of satisfaction on one of my last trips back the Rockies, when family members were like… “You eat that now?”
Yes. Yes I do. My tastes have changed… just like I’ve changed.
Change is normal and even expected—you just have to be open to it. And when you get out of your comfort zone, like how I moved away from my hometown to NYC, there’s a lot more to see and experience and enjoy.
And it can be really, really fun to try new things, especially food.
Honestly, I’m still a little finicky with certain kinds of fish and seafood (no lobster for me), but otherwise… I’ve broadened my food horizons so much that, when I make food choices that are so unlike Old Me, it’s fun to see my family members’ jaws drop in surprise.
You know, I kind of like shocking people. Especially if it inspires them to try new things too.
And I’m so happy that I can finally face the bones here and learn how to work around them to get to the juicy, delicious meat I missed out on for far too long.
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How have your tastes changed through the years? What food has changed your life?
I’d love to hear! Feel free to share in the comments!