Ink Is Not for Eating

Back when the Wookie and I were in the early days of our courtship, two strangers emailing each other via Match.com, he asked me what kind of food I like. I responded with a long and diverse list of cuisines ranging from Italian to Spanish, Chinese to Vietnamese. Wookie’s response was simply, “wow, you have eclectic tastes!”

My friend made a similar comment when we were at dinner the other night. I had just ordered pasta made with (I think it was) squid ink. She said I was adventurous and I commented that, as I had no known food allergies, I felt I could afford to be.

(Yeah, I know it's an octopus, not a squid, but this sculpture outside of Cliff House in San Francisco was the closest I had to a squid.)

Even as I let the words slip from my mouth, I knew I was tempting the Fates. So really, it should have come as no surprise to me when, roughly five hours later, I found myself making sacrifice at the porcelain throne.

It was at that point that Wookie walked in and declared, “no more ink pasta.”

You see, I’d had it before. And while all I remember from the experience is thinking that I didn’t like the consistency very much, Wookie remembers that night ending in a similar late-night serenade to the gods of plumbing.

Apparently, there is something I cannot eat.

It’s not a huge loss really, after giving the dish two tries in two different restaurants, it was tasty, but not a favorite anyway. Though I did prefer having a short list of things I would not eat and nothing in the “can’t eat it” column.

Still, the crème brulet was delicious.