“It tastes a little like chicken,” John said as he took another bite. “But it needs more barbecue sauce.”

Steve sat shaking his head in disagreement. He slowed his chewing to better focus on the flavor.

“No. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s not chicken,” he replied.

When I suggested blindfolding my friends so they could sample a couple of finger food delicacies, they surprised me. It didn’t take much convincing. I wondered how easy it would be to talk them into doing other, more daring things, like bungee jumping. Maybe they would agree to a combination of the two; bungee jumping while blindfolded.

The first plate of food had fooled them, much as it did the first time I tried deep fried cauliflower. While cooking, I thought to have spiced the batter too much but they enjoyed the creole seasoning that was mixed in. John thought it would have tasted better with a dipping sauce while Steve popped them down one after another.

When neither cared for the second dish, I remembered that part of the joy of eating squash blossoms was in the visual appearance. Roasted in the oven and stuffed with goat cheese, the orange and yellow flowers offered a delicate contrast to the light green stems. Some people find the thought of eating flowers difficult, which is why it was added to the menu.

After filling my friends with vegetable appetizers, the last dish was the one I was most curious about. It was a grilled protein I knew they wouldn’t have agreed eating unless they were blindfolded. While they continued to guess wrong and debate what they were served, each kept reaching out for another until the plate was near empty. With only two pieces left, I moved the food out of reach, as this was another serving that required a visual presentation. Defeated, they removed their blindfolds.

Amidst remnants of smeared barbecue sauce and discarded bones, two grilled index fingers remained uneaten.

Overcome with nausea, Steve sprinted from the room. John sat motionless, calmly trying to come to terms with the reality that his brain had already accepted.

“Is that what I think it is?” he asked, pointing to the plate.

Before nibbling on one of the leftovers, I said, “You already ate the middle fingers, so it’s kinda like I flipped you off.”

“It really wasn’t that bad. Except, there wasn’t enough meat on the bones. Maybe next time you can cook a thumb? Or a big toe?”

“Beggars can’t be choosers. These aren’t the easiest things to procure.”

“Do I even wanna know where you got them?”

Before responding, I looked over my shoulder towards the doorway that Steve exited through.

“From the last person that didn’t like what I cooked for them.”