One hundred year old egg...

This weekend was the second annual “Jump the Gun Turkey Run”. In its simplest form it is an excuse to have an additional Thanksgiving dinner. More importantly it is a large group of friends celebrating the holiday together. Each person contributes a traditional or nontraditional dish and pot-luck style we feast and revel in each others company. The dinner went very well, the turkey was superb, the wine flowed, and the company was refreshing. There was however one moment that I would like excised from my memory. Kristen decided she would share some of her Asian culture by contributing a traditional culinary treat. I speak of the one-hundred-year-old-egg. If the name does not elicit an immediate gag reflex let me expand further. The egg is made by burying it in the ground for several months with salt and rice and whatever else they think makes eggs rot in a stylish fashion. The egg spoils in this closed environment, the yolk turns green and the white turns black and jelly like. Immediately upon arrival I was presented with half of one of these little demons and prompted to consume. I have eaten some gross things. I once fought off a pack of New York pigeons to finish a slice of pizza on Wall Street. When I was a kid I would chew worms with delight for the sole purpose of grossing out my sisters. With this track record I did not hesitate to accept the mastication challenge for the entertainment of others. Moments after the slimy morsel passed my lips I regretted my decision. The consistency of the egg-black was similar to gummy bears that have been left out for a few days. The yolk was creamy and sticky like peanut butter. As I chewed small pockets of gas escaped the egg and filled my nostrils with the sting of ammonia and sulfur. Imagine a bag of gym socks soaked in urine and rancid milk and you might have an inkling of what I had a mouthful of. In protest my body refused to swallow. Despite my feverish chewing the egg would not reach a safe consistency to swallow. Each moment the toxic waste stayed in my mouth the closer I came to loosing my mind. Finally I gulped the mass down only to be left with the pasty remnants coating every tooth and surface in my mouth. I chugged the closest glass of wine and ate three pickles to cleanse any lingering sensation of the absolute worst thing to enter my mouth. Luckily there was heaping plates of delicious Thanksgiving dinner to chase and bury the vile mess. The experience does not deter any future endeavors of eating strange and disgusting things. I am almost certain nothing can ever be worse than the death egg.