I’m thirty. I’ve never had chicken in my life, because I’ve been allergic since before I can even remember.
But allergies — especially those developed when really young — are supposed to fade with age, so I decided to get tested earlier this month.
The pleasant surprise: my allergy is gone.
Just like that.
Imagine. I’m a thirty-year-old person who has never had chicken shawerma. Turkey. Msakhan. Nuggets. Wings. Farooj. Popeyes. Chicken soup. Smoked turkey and cheese. Jaj mahshi. Sheesh tawuk. Drums. A club sandwich.
You get the point.
With one blood test, a whole new world has opened up. A world where I don’t have to pack my meals to dinner parties, and where I don’t have to be phobic about whether or not that piece of lettuce was touching the chicken in the caesar salad. IT DOESN’T MATTER ANY MORE IF YOU USED CHICKEN BROTH TO COOK THOSE VEGETABLES.
Now begins a journey too strange for me to not share… The journey into poultry.
Of course, it’s not easy. I associate the flavor of chicken with holding my hair out of my face, while bending over the sink and throwing my guts out. The smell, which I recognize better than you do, is the smell of fear.
But I’m going to face my fear and embrace a culinary journey.
Chicken… Here I come.