When I was in year 2 or 3 (so when I was 6-7 years old), our class went on an 'excursion' to the nursing home next to my school. It was a day where we could sing off key in our little squeaky voices and people wouldn't mind because they'd have their hearing aids off.
Little me was thrilled. I was well known within my household and possibly the smaller part of the church community for making pretty average - yet awesome all the same - ANZAC biscuits. Mum suggested we make them, as it was requested we each bring something to share.
I was super pumped about it. Not to brag, but I made AMAZING biscuits.
I was so proud. So happy with myself.
We went to the nursing home. Everyone sang our cute little songs, and we probably did some sort of embarrassing dance too. Then it was break time. The part of the visit where we let the old people eat the food we brought.
I vaguely remember talking to an old person about nothing in particular, while closely watching how many people at my ANZAC biscuits. The brownies and cakes and stuff all went really quickly. And there, with a few other foods, were most of my ANZAC biscuits. My face went from the above picture, to this.
I. Was. Crushed. Was there something particularly wrong with them? Did they taste bad? Do old people not like eating them because they remind them too much of the war(s)?
Mum said it was probably because they couldn't eat biscuits because they had delicate gums and few teeth. And digestive problems, and sugar restrictions, and stuff like that.
It's a sad memory, that still haunts me. I still feel really upset to think they didn't eat them, cause I know for a fact that they were darn good. *sniffles*
In contrast, I am now making a solid effort to make more amazing ANZAC biscuits, so I never again have to experience the pain of my cooking so solidly rejected.