Let the "I Told You Sos" commence

Actually, I expect them from only one person. Guess what, Mom: I've started eating tomatoes of my own accord. Actual, recognizable chunks of solid tomato. Not sauce, not paste, not salsa, not ketchup. Tomatoes.

Now that the fainting has ceased, I should add that I only eat them on banh mi, sandwiches I buy from street vendors. These things are fantastic, with fresh-baked bread, soft cheese, roast pork, and all kinds of crazy sauces, veggies, powders, flavorings, herbs, vitamins, and accessories. They cost about $.50 to $.75, which means that, even though it takes 2 to fill me up, they're a damn good deal.

And yes, the tomatoes add something. The first time was a mistake: I had no idea how to ask for no tomatoes, and the woman making the sandwich didn't point at them, which gave me no chance to shake my head and gesticulate wildly, as had happened with the pate and rather dodgy-looking mayonnaise. The second time was my attempt to see if the first occasion was merely an anomaly...I found myself liking the tomato slices, and, well, couldn't believe it. So I had to try again.

Maybe it's because they're a bit different from tomatoes at home. On these slices, anyway, there's none of the slimy, seed-y, goopy bits that--quite literally--make me gag. The flavor is milder, too, and lacking in that certain, indefinable raw tomato flavor that...well, see above about gagging.

One of the pillars of my culinary universe has crumbled; whatever next?