A Closer Look—And a Sickening Realization
We leaned in, both of us squinting in disbelief. That’s when we saw it. The “specks” weren’t seeds at all—they were tiny, translucent spheres with dark centers, faintly twitching. Some were just barely wriggling, others still, but unmistakably alive.
A chilling silence fell between us before panic surged. My friend dropped her fork and shoved the plate away as if it had bitten her. I felt my stomach turn. How long had those things been there? Had we already eaten some by mistake?
She was visibly shaken—pale, breathing fast, one hand over her mouth. We called the waiter over, but our fear was already escalating into full-blown anxiety. The staff tried to stay calm, offering to remove the dish and comp our meal, but no apology could undo the damage. We were terrified.
Within minutes, we decided not to take any chances. Unsure what kind of insect or parasite we might have been exposed to, we called an ambulance. My friend was nauseous and crying softly, shaking in the cool evening air as we waited outside. That elegant dining experience had dissolved into a surreal and horrifying blur.
A Visit to the Emergency Room
At the hospital, nurses took our concerns seriously. The doctors ran a series of tests and prescribed precautionary medication, including antiparasitics and antibiotics. We were advised to monitor for symptoms over the next several days: fever, abdominal pain, nausea, or any allergic reaction.
Thankfully, neither of us became physically ill. But the psychological toll lingered. My friend couldn’t sleep for days. I had nightmares about squirming larvae in food. What was once a simple dinner outing became a deeply disturbing memory that we couldn’t easily shake.
The restaurant reached out later, issuing a formal apology. They blamed a “technical error” and a “supplier issue,” explaining that the ingredients in the salad had not been properly screened or cleaned before plating. But their words felt hollow. There was no clear explanation of what the eggs were, how they got there, or how such an oversight could have occurred in a high-end establishment.
The Lingering Fear
It’s been months since that night, but the effects haven’t faded. I still flinch when I see chia seeds, poppy seeds—anything that even remotely resembles those specks. I find myself examining salads and grains with suspicion, something I never did before.
That night didn’t just ruin a meal. It fractured our sense of safety in a space that once felt comfortable and welcoming. It made us question the food we eat, the places we trust, and the idea that any public setting is truly safe.
Some may call it an overreaction. But when you see something alive—moving—on your dinner plate, when your body enters fight-or-flight at a dinner table, you realize how thin the line is between comfort and terror.
We didn’t just lose our appetite that night. We lost something deeper: our trust.
