As a rule they will refuse even to sample a foreign dish, they regard such things as garlic and olive oil with disgust, life is unliveable to them unless they have tea and puddings.
My parents always used to complain about my eating habits. I was different. I was wrong. Everything had to be plain or boiled. I was 14 before I ate pasta with tomato sauce. My dad would take me to the best restaurants, and all I would eat was rice with olive oil.
When I was ten years old, I saw a big, fat beetle get squished. I don't recall the circumstances, but that's not important. It's the result that stuck with me. The beetle's thick, viscous insides so closely resembled a crushed blueberry that, to this day, I can't eat raw blueberries without feeling nauseous.
The codfish is a staple food For which I'm seldom in the mood. This fish is such an utter loss That people eat it with egg sauce.
I've never been a fan of personality-conflict burgers and identity-crisis omelets with patchouli oil. I function very well on a diet that consists of Chicken Catastrophe and Eggs Overwhelming and a tall, cool Janitor-in-a-Drum. I like to walk out of a restaurant with enough gas to open a Mobil station.
... Hey, I didn't know you didn't like baloney." I went cold. "I don't like it. I never liked it." Soda just looked at me. "You used to eat it. That's why you wouldn't eat anything while you were sick. You kept saying you didn't like baloney, no matter what it was we were trying to get you to eat." "I don't like it," I repeated.
Tell me why it is that a toddler will gag over a perfectly wonderful breakfast of ham, eggs, biscuits, juice, and jelly. But then he will enthusiastically drink the dog's water and play in the toilet. Truly, he is his mother's greatest challenge...; and her most inexpressible joy.
I do not like onions. It's so funny because I am probably one of the least picky eaters ever. Pretty much any type of new food, I'll try it, I'll eat it. But onions, and pork. Pork and onions.
The worst part about pregnancy would definitely have to be my nausea. I don't know why it's just called morning sickness because morning sickness never just happened in the morning for me and it's not happening just in the morning for my sister.
You can't be judgmental about babies. They are all have different needs. I was left with an enduring hatred of cheese because it was forced down me when I was young.
I'm funny with food, even if it's vegan. I like it well well, well, well done. I don't want anything there that reminds me of blood. I get mine extra well done. That way, when I look at it, I'm like, 'Okay, cool.'
My brother Max is three and half years younger than me but more of a fussy eater.
I'm the fussiest eater on earth; my husband despairs. I like chicken and pasta, and can't resist milk chocolate. I figure if you're going to do something naughty, make it really enjoyable.
I'm not fussy about my food.
The hardest is foods I am not familiar with. Gyros, I lost that one; I don't like tzatziki sauce very much. I did kimchi in Korea, which was rough: fermented cabbage and spicy.
Squeamish stomachs cannot eat without pickles.
Maybe you know why a child can reject a hot dog with mustard served on a soft bun at home, yet eat six of them two hours later at fifty cents each.
