idiosyncrasies
The other day I felt like dusting a few Italian herbs over the bacon and eggs that I was cooking, but when I reached for the mixed herbs container I realised that we'd run out of the stuff. My dad was going shopping so I asked him to get some more Italian herbs. After he came home from shopping he proudly announced, "I bought the herbs for you!".
The next day, when I was cooking up some more bacon and eggs for breakfast, I reached for the herbs. My dad had bought plenty of herbs. Chinese five spice, mixed Thai seasoning, and a lemongrass and coriander mix. I'm supposed to put that on bacon and eggs? I reluctantly tried the Thai seasoning on my breakfast, and it tasted like a breakfast served in some cheap South East Asian youth hostel trying to cater to an international clientele.
My New Zealand born dad also likes eating fish heads and chicken feet, and he scares Chinese waitresses at Yum Cha by ordering these dishes in Chinese. My mum's relatives from Hong Kong say he was "born with the wrong head".
Since my dad has an incorrect head on him and prefers asian cuisine over anything else, our family never caved in to eating Western dishes and I grew up eating weird stuff. When the kids at school were eating peanut butter sandwiches for lunch, I had leftover tofu, black fungus and cow's stomach. One time my mum decided to cook the spinal chord of a cow (they looked like fat, white noodles), and the next day the kids at school were saying "what kind of sandwich is that?".
On top of that, my parents love their healthy food (yes, apprently black fungus is healthy). We never have real milk in the fridge, it's always soy milk. My mum made us quench our thirst on filtered water when my classmates were drinking cordial. Sometimes she'd give us a treat and instead of drinking water we'd get fruit juice (100% pure, of course. None of the artificial stuff). However, fruit juices are high in sugar, and my mum would water the juice down 50:50, so that it tasted bland and sour.
My mum also has several odd habits in the way that she pronounces things, and I don't think that this is just because she isn't a native English speaker. Instead of saying "sushi", she will say "shushi". Instead of saying "cigarettes", she will say "if I ever catch you smoking shigarettes, you will be disowned!". No, she doesn't have a lisp, and when we tell her that she's pronouncing those words incorrectly, she'll repeat the correct pronunciation slowly with a puzzled look on her face, only to go back to saying "shushi" and "shigarette" the next time those words happen to pop up.
Another thing, apparently it is discipline Hong Kong style to whack your kids with a feather duster. Every time the feather duster came out, my sister and I would start trembling (and my mum wonders why we have an aversion to cleaning and vacuuming). To counter this, my sister and I came up with a plan. We decided that each time my mum pulled the feather duster out as a kung fu implement, we would burst out laughing. That plan backfired. My mum would yell out "you still think it's funny?!" when she landed another stinging blow with the feather duster, and my sister and I would go on cackling in hysterical laughter whilst bawling our eyes out at the same time. This led to the feather duster snapping in half, which only made things worse because it was replaced with a particularly painful wooden spoon.
I know, I know. I'm lucky. A good diet is now second nature to me, and my upbringing didn't hurt in helping me feel like a special and unique person.
The next day, when I was cooking up some more bacon and eggs for breakfast, I reached for the herbs. My dad had bought plenty of herbs. Chinese five spice, mixed Thai seasoning, and a lemongrass and coriander mix. I'm supposed to put that on bacon and eggs? I reluctantly tried the Thai seasoning on my breakfast, and it tasted like a breakfast served in some cheap South East Asian youth hostel trying to cater to an international clientele.
My New Zealand born dad also likes eating fish heads and chicken feet, and he scares Chinese waitresses at Yum Cha by ordering these dishes in Chinese. My mum's relatives from Hong Kong say he was "born with the wrong head".
Since my dad has an incorrect head on him and prefers asian cuisine over anything else, our family never caved in to eating Western dishes and I grew up eating weird stuff. When the kids at school were eating peanut butter sandwiches for lunch, I had leftover tofu, black fungus and cow's stomach. One time my mum decided to cook the spinal chord of a cow (they looked like fat, white noodles), and the next day the kids at school were saying "what kind of sandwich is that?".
On top of that, my parents love their healthy food (yes, apprently black fungus is healthy). We never have real milk in the fridge, it's always soy milk. My mum made us quench our thirst on filtered water when my classmates were drinking cordial. Sometimes she'd give us a treat and instead of drinking water we'd get fruit juice (100% pure, of course. None of the artificial stuff). However, fruit juices are high in sugar, and my mum would water the juice down 50:50, so that it tasted bland and sour.
My mum also has several odd habits in the way that she pronounces things, and I don't think that this is just because she isn't a native English speaker. Instead of saying "sushi", she will say "shushi". Instead of saying "cigarettes", she will say "if I ever catch you smoking shigarettes, you will be disowned!". No, she doesn't have a lisp, and when we tell her that she's pronouncing those words incorrectly, she'll repeat the correct pronunciation slowly with a puzzled look on her face, only to go back to saying "shushi" and "shigarette" the next time those words happen to pop up.
Another thing, apparently it is discipline Hong Kong style to whack your kids with a feather duster. Every time the feather duster came out, my sister and I would start trembling (and my mum wonders why we have an aversion to cleaning and vacuuming). To counter this, my sister and I came up with a plan. We decided that each time my mum pulled the feather duster out as a kung fu implement, we would burst out laughing. That plan backfired. My mum would yell out "you still think it's funny?!" when she landed another stinging blow with the feather duster, and my sister and I would go on cackling in hysterical laughter whilst bawling our eyes out at the same time. This led to the feather duster snapping in half, which only made things worse because it was replaced with a particularly painful wooden spoon.
I know, I know. I'm lucky. A good diet is now second nature to me, and my upbringing didn't hurt in helping me feel like a special and unique person.
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