I have two: 1. My parents, being wonderful greethumbed Berkeley, CA foodies grew Swiss Chard in our backyard in the early 80s. As I child, I did enjoy the sweet goodness of the sauteed greens and garlic, until the fateful day when instead of my mother preparing, my father did the honors. He went outside, collected a few crisp leaves, and washed them with the garden hose. Brought them inside, tore them up and tossed them in a hot pan with some olive oil. Sauteed lightly - just enough to wilt them slightly... and served. I got the prize: a still LIVE snail crawled up and out of my pile of greens... much to my 4 year old horror. It took me 20 years to eat swiss chard again, and when I did, I washed the poor stuff almost into pieces. 2. My father, again. It ends happily though, with no emotional scarring. We were out to dinner. He ordered oysters rockafeller as an appetizer. Bit into one, broke a tooth on a pearl. A REAL pearl. Quite beautiful, and not terribly small either actually. Dinner was comp'ed, and my mother ended up with a new pendant.