I find it hard to eat Okro soup

I find it hard to eat Okro soup

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Okra soup is one food that I've never been able to eat. Throughout my early years, my family and I were always engaged in a struggle that we were never able to win, no matter how hard we tried.

My relatives used to constantly make fun of me for not eating that slimy, green stuff when I was a child. "Boy, you better finish that okra or you're not leaving this table!" They would yell at me as though I had done something really wrong.

But I just could not bring myself to enjoy it, you see? The texture was utterly revolting to me - gooey and stringy. It felt like I was consuming some sort of alien slime. It gave me an intense feeling of revulsion every single time.

Then there was that distinct aroma that would assault your nostrils. An earthy, funky scent that would cause my face to contort involuntarily at the mere thought of it. My mother tried masking it with spices and seasonings, but I could always detect that signature okra fragrance.

Don't even get me started on the taste! While most children went wild for candy or ice cream, I actively dreaded that bitter, grassy flavor as if it were my own personal kryptonite. It lingered on your tongue too, no matter how much you tried to wash it away.

So, you can imagine that every supper involving okra soup became a full-blown dramatic production. I'd feign stomach aches, concoct outlandish excuses, do anything to avoid taking a bite of that foul concoction.

"Your auntie cooked this with love just for you!" My family would try to guilt-trip me. As if emotional warfare would somehow make me change my mind on this matter? Not a chance.

I vividly recall one incident where I stuffed an entire bowl of okra soup into my pockets, thinking I was being sly. I ended up walking around with a permanently stained shirt and a room that reeked for weeks. My mother was absolutely furious over that little stunt!

Even as an adult today, the mere sight of okra makes me cringe inwardly. I respect my ancestors and their culinary traditions, but I must draw the line at this particular delicacy, you understand?

My girlfriend once tried to swindle me by concealing okra in a beef stew. I took one spoonful, felt those slimy strings hit my tongue, and instantly knew something was amiss. Let's just say she learned her lesson quite rapidly after that incident.

Don't get me wrong, I'll happily indulge in other African soups and stews all day long. But okra soup? That's a firm no-go for me. I'll gladly take a bacon double cheeseburger over that mushy, funky stuff any day of the week and twice on Sundays.

Call it a character flaw, an idiosyncrasy, or whatever you wish. But the truth is, okra soup and I were simply never meant to be, my friends. I'm afraid I'll have to pass on that one until the day I'm knocking on heaven's door!

Thank you for reading my post.