A letter to my frenemies

(subtitled, I hate fighting with my food)

Dear Food,

I am sorry to tell you this but most of you are my frenemies. Yes, you pretend to be my friends don’t you, but you are in fact, my enemies. I would rather you hear this from me and not when I talk behind your back. I am sorry, but we are just not working out. This is my evaluation of our friendship status. I cannot order you if I have to fight with you. Pure and simple.

Chicken Wings

– You are out … you are far too much trouble, not to mention that you are messy. You are quite a clear cut case.

chicken wings


– I love you but I cannot be bothered digging for your succulent meat. But if someone does it for me, you are in – (my mouth). Ditto lobster


– Too much trouble to both eat and to cook with. You make me fight with you and I don’t want to.



– You are too hard to deal with on any level, so you are not my friends. I spend so much time preparing you when in all seriousness you are just not worth it.



– Unless you are totally boned and come with a written guarantee and have a lawyer and a doctor present you are out mostly. I find myself taking a tiny bit and chewing you to a pulp just to make sure one of your little bones didn’t escape the filleting and tweezers, so you are a real pain. I want to like you but you keep fighting me.

Bring out a species of boneless fish and I will re-evaluate our friendship.


– I will eat you gladly at home but never in public. You and I have a very private and personal relationship. What goes on at home, stays at home. Ok?

Nuts in shells – any of you

– No, you are all out because I have to expend some energy smashing you and besides you get stuck in my teeth. I would like to like you, but no I can’t.

Corn on the cob

– I love you but I don’t like you and there is a difference. You do taste great but I have to fight you every step of the way. There is nothing dignified about eating you at all, not even in the privacy of my own home.

Escargot, or snails if you will

– Pretty Woman was right, you are slippery little suckers, and I cannot pull off that sexy look to get away with slinging you across a restaurant. So, we fight and we can’t be friends anymore.

Cherries and watermelon and really any seeded fruits

I love you, you know I do. But I cannot be seen in public with you. You know what the problem is as well as I do. Ours is a covert affair.

So to all of my frenemies, please don’t take this personally, but I would rather be honest with you.

Regards, Contented Traveller

Just to let you know

I have just read a great post by 1000 Places to Fight Before you Die, called I am a Menu Coward, which is well worth reading, and it reminded me of the fact that I hate fighting with food. So all credit to them, for reminding me to get this article out of the drafts.



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