I come from a family of good eaters. There were six of us, 5 boys and 1 girl, and not one of us was the least bit fussy about what food was put before us or how it was presented. We devoured everything edible in sight. My Mother never saw a leftover until after the four oldest had left the nest. Naturally, each of us had our favorite foods and others that we were not at all fond of. But we always ate whatever was prepared.
I, for one, do not like liver. I don’t like the look of it. I don’t like the smell of it. I don’t like the texture of it. But most of all I don’t like the taste of it. My Mother, however, loved it and prepared liver and onions about once a month. I ate it. I didn’t take seconds, but I ate it. The concept of leaving anything on your plate uneaten was totally foreign to us. I have not eaten liver for more than 30 years, but I guarantee you that if you invited me to dinner, and served liver, I would eat it. There are a few other foods that I am not overly fond of, that I would never prepare myself or order at a restaurant, but would still eat if put in front of me.
There is one very strange thing about my eating habits which sets me apart from most people. I am not a bread person. I don’t dislike bread – it’s OK, I guess – I just don’t eat much of it. I’ll buy a loaf of whole wheat bread and it goes directly into the freezer, where it usually takes me about three months to eat all 20 slices. I’ll take a couple of slices from the freezer, wrap them in a paper towel and thaw them in the microwave for an occasional sandwich or toast for scrambled eggs
At a restaurant when the waiter leaves a basket of warm bread I will likely tear off some and eat it, just for something to do while I’m waiting for my salad or appetizer. More often than not, if I order a sandwich I will eat only the filling and leave the bread or roll – an exception to my compulsion to eat everything on my plate. But, if I get a hamburger at a fast food place, or a hot dog at a sporting event, I do eat the roll. It would get rather messy trying to extract the innards by hand.
Considering our history, it was surprising that most of my siblings’ children, though otherwise adorable and angelic (of course!), were extremely picky eaters when small. I mean the kind that whine and refuse to eat anything on their plate if, Heaven forbid, the mashed potatoes were touching the peas! The kind that would refuse to eat anything at all if one thing objectionable was on their plate. The kind that make mealtimes highly stressful. I guess if there is a gene that controls our appetite it must be recessive.