When I was a little girl, there were several vegetables I would not under any circumstances allow in my food. My parents tried to sneak them in to sauces, chopping up onions, chives or mushrooms into tiny bits in an attempt to dissuade me from my oh-so-healthy diet of macaroni and cheese. No matter how small the diced veggies were, I could taste them a mile away. "This has onion in it!" I would cry angrily, and proceed to pout for the rest of the meal. (What a charmer.) Mostly I've come to realize that my disgust for onions and mushrooms came from the texture ("too crunchy, too rubbery, get it away from me," etc).
This might be why my parents are still shocked to the core whenever I eat onions or mushrooms (often). I will add grilled onions to almost any dish and ever since my adventures grilling with Quinn and Daniel I've been doing the same with mushrooms. I add sliced white mushrooms to my
healthier version of
Fettuccini Alfredo, recreate my goat cheese & shiitake
omelet from John O'Groats, and sautee large portobello caps in the balsamic-dijon marinade
Daniel came up with. The other night I took my mushroom obsession a step further. As I sipped on some girlie moscato white wine and danced around in my kitchen with Scream 2 on in the background, I made sinfully bites of sheer happiness: stuffed mushrooms.
