Mold for Lunch
What could you live without? Shortly after I was born, I was given the nickname “小蘑菇”, or “Xiǎo Mó Gu” by my mom. It meant “Little Mushroom”, because for some reason, I reminded her of one. She never told me why, but if I had to guess it’d probably be because my small frame reminded her of a red mushroom living in the forest. The nickname for me stuck for a few years in my family until the fateful day when I tried mushrooms for the first time: Five-year-old me was sitting down for supper, and my mom had made soup with beef, carrots, cabbage, and mushrooms. When I bit on my namesake for the first time in my life, I had never felt such a revolting sensation. The flavor of mushrooms was earthy, abnormal, and evil. And the salt in the wound was that the texture was unlike anything I’ve ever had before: Unlike the carrots and cabbages which fell apart nicely in your mouth as you bit into them, these vile creations of nature were chewy and rubbery. For a five-year-old, that ...