My fork was quivering, pointed at the horned turban shell on my plate.
I scooped up the handful of pieces artfully assembled in the shell’s cavity and popped them all into my mouth in one go.
For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. The horned turban shell meat repelling my chomps with such force that describing the experience as chewy would be inadequate as that would indicate some kind of progress in the act of chewing. Despite repeated blows by my molars the horned turban shell meat was intact.
This wasn’t the first time giving the delicacy a try, but first time in front of my children.
They saw me struggle. They saw me give something a second chance. They saw me overcome my fear. They saw that it doesn’t mean things will change.
They laughed it off and give me a good ribbing.
The aftertaste of the turban shell faded quicky, but the impression on my kids will last.