About
I don’t eat meat. I don’t eat fish. I can’t look at avocados. I can’t stand the smell of olives. And the texture of mushrooms grosses me out.
I’m picky.
I’ve been a picky eater since I was born. I spent most of my childhood eating al-dente pasta with a spoonful of non-chunky marinara sauce. If there was more than a spoonful, I wouldn’t eat it. Are my parents picky eaters? Not at all. Okay my dad hates vegetables with the letter A (asparagus, artichoke, avocado etc…) but otherwise it’s unclear as to where I came from with this picky-ness!
My friends know to check the menus before we go somewhere to eat to confirm that there is something for me. My friends always introduce me to their friends that are also picky eaters as, “she’s worse than you!”
My vegetarianism. For many years I ate chicken–white meat only, not on the bone and not a bit of red (blood) could be seen. It had to be covered in breading or sauce or disguised in some way that it made it non-chickenish. I went to dinner with my best friend and her parents for her birthday several years ago and ordered the one dish on the menu that was suitable for me–a chicken dish. When the dish came out, the chicken was on a bone, and lots of brown meat. I gave a disgusted look to my best friend, she swapped plates with me, removed all the bones and the brown meat and put the white de-boned chicken on a separate plate for me. Her parents watched in awe, that there was no discussion and she just knew what she needed to do.
I ate canned tuna as a child but only prepared by my mom or from Pick-A-Bagel in NYC. I ate turkey for a year and realized I hated the sliminess. In July 2008, while traveling in Europe with a friend, I walked into Mercat de la Boqueria in Barcelona, saw all the meat hanging and the fish being chopped into pieces and I ran out and said “I’m done” and I never touched meat again.
“No” is a very common word in my vocabulary when it comes to food. I simply do not like the taste, the look, the texture, the smell, the color of many foods and thus it has kept me from eating a lot of things that I could potentially enjoy the taste of. It’s rare for me to try something new. The one time I went to a restaurant and someone else ordered for me and insisted I ate this meal without knowing what it was, I loved it. Never found out what it was, and a week later the restaurant closed.
The good news is, I do appreciate good food. I love going out to dinner with friends and indulging in delicious meals. An only child (which people never think, except when it comes to my eating habits), born and raised in New York City, it’s hard to not appreciate the diverse foods and tastes that the city has to offer. I just like simple things. I don’t like when the foods are touching on the plate. I must drink ginger ale on planes, but would never drink it otherwise. I hate when I have to spend time cutting my food–why can’t it come pre-cut? If my only option of water is Evian, I’d rather be parched–it tastes like dirt. Most drinking glasses smell like wet dog to me and I can’t seem to get away from the smell, it follows me everywhere and it’s disgusting.
Over the summer I went to a restaurant that had no veggie dishes on their menu. I asked the waitress if they had any other options and she told me the chef would prepare something specifically for me. Originally she wanted me to “trust” whatever the chef would come up with and luckily the chef came out of the kitchen and had a consultation with me: “Do you eat rice?” “Do you like spicy foods?” “Do you like mushrooms?” and on and on until she came up with a dish in her head and it ended up being delicious!
When you think you’re the picky-est eater out there, there’s always someone worse. I have yet to find that person. So I hope you enjoy reading my whereabouts and reviews of all things food–-both good and bad!
pick, pick, pick, pick, pick picky!