I will probably never like shrimp tacos

I wasn't born a picky eater; I don’t think anyone is. I think being a picky eater stems from your childhood experience with food.

I always knew that my family didn’t have the most refined taste when it came to eating. When we celebrated a special occasion, we went to Applebee’s. My wealthier, fancier best friend celebrated special occasions by going downtown for sushi or some other food that I considered foreign.

My mother was the cook in our house, but she never loved it, so she didn’t ever experiment with any adventurous flavors. She found just the right cycle of meals to please all four of her children, and nothing new was ever added.

Even though I’ve grown older and wiser, my palette has remained stagnant — so has my Applebee’s order. I judge foods quickly based on their appearance, and I am turned off by many things about a meal. Before the rational side of my brain can even consider eating a new food, the irrational, erratic side has already firmly rejected it.

When my boyfriend decided to make shrimp tacos for lunch, and I knew I had to eat them, my mind told me to run. I stayed, however, and pushed my food boundaries like never before.

A strong, fishy odor wafted through my entire apartment as soon as the shrimp left the package. I have never been able to eat seafood, and half of the reason comes from the scent. I feared that the ever-recognizable shrimp smell would never leave, but after a few minutes, I got used to it and was able to continue cooking.

While my boyfriend chopped some red cabbage, I made the sauce: a lime juice, mayonnaise, sour cream and garlic powder medley. I squeezed fresh limes into the bowl and was comforted by the aroma they produced. I’m not particularly a fan of limes per se, but lime is my favorite flavor of hard seltzer, so I have some experience with them.

I mixed the mayonnaise and sour cream together but let my boyfriend add the garlic powder because I had no idea what business it had being in that sauce.

After all the preparation work was done, we threw the shrimp into a skillet with some olive oil and heard the mouth-watering sizzle as they cooked. It didn’t take long before their color had changed to a more pleasant pink, and they were ready to eat.

We plated the shrimp tacos, and I sat concerned at the table. I didn’t want to eat the shrimp, but I knew that, realistically, it couldn’t be that bad. I looked at the shrimp, wrapped up in its tortilla blanket, covered in a drizzle of a creamy, off-white sauce and topped with the pretty purple cabbage, and I decided to dig in.

Upon my first bite, “Kill Bill” sirens blared in my head. I crunched down on the shrimp, and my first instinct was to spit it out. I’d eaten shrimp one time before, and the texture was enough to make me gag. This time, however, I was determined to keep it down. I was hesitant as I chewed the shrimp, but the contrasting crispiness of the cabbage made for a balanced bite.

In terms of flavors, my first thought was that it tasted like a sock, but that was my bias kicking in. Truthfully, the expected fishy taste was masked by the light, tangy sauce. The acidity of the limes helped, too, and I actually didn’t mind it. I was caught off guard by the overall tartness of the taco, and if I weren’t generally repulsed by shrimp, the sauce might have even been too much and needed something sweeter to even it out.

I’m not sure I’ll ever fully enjoy shrimp tacos, but I can’t say I didn’t try. Based on this experimental meal, I’m feeling pretty motivated to try some funkier foods in the future. However, I’m still convinced shrimp tastes like sock.