health

Picky adults: why doesn't anyone just eat FOOD anymore?

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I understand picky eating. Growing up I made going out to dinner as a family a nightmare.  I would only eat things that were white.

The local Italian was the safest. I liked noodles. But if anyone dared adorn my dinner with cheese, tomato, or heavens above, pepper the reaction wasn’t pleasant.  Pasta and melted butter. That was it. At home I wasn’t much easier. I remember taking ‘salad sandwiches’ in my lunchbox. My version had just margarine and ice berg lettuce on them. A system of rewards was implemented to help me reform. If I ate all of a multicoloured meal I got dessert (usually plain white Peter’s ice cream). I also got a star on a chart on the wall.

Slowly over the years I’ve morphed into an omnivore. My stepfather had a lot to do with it. Instead of the ready strings of genetics to bind a family, shared time at the table became more important. He had adventurous tastes and so I began to broaden mine. Asian flavours became ok and chilli passed in moderation.

Dashing the final hurdles of my pickiness was inspired by Geoffrey Steingarten’s essay, ‘The man who ate everything’. When he became the food critic for American Vogue in the late 80’s he decided he had let his food phobias go. So he tackled each of his aversions with the exposure technique. It reasons if you eat something ten times, you’ll slowly adjust.

So off I went. First it was tomato sandwiches (the sog of the bread once upset me). Then mackerel (the bones and the aggressive oiliness). Then sea urchin (like kissing a manky sock). I’m still not a huge fan of bruised bananas or Vegemite. But that’s it.

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These days I’ll eat pretty much anything. Even hakarl. I say this with love, I ate that, so you don’t have to.

Pickiness isn’t always something you naturally grow out of, like overalls. One friend is still traumatised by tomato sauce and condiments. Another has a mortal dislike of pine nuts.  One won’t eat any fruit at all. It’s the slippery texture. It just makes her gag. And my best friend won’t touch miso or kiwi fruit.

While lots of food lovers wear their ability to scoff anything as a badge of honour, plenty shelter dislikes. Even Julia Child even had one. If she was still with us she might have been one of the 9 000 other members of facebook’s numerous ‘I hate cilantro/ coriander’ pages

Most people are able to negotiate their way around their preferences, slipping disliked bits to the dog,  ordering carefully at restaurants, or fibbing they’ve got an allergy ( surely one of the quickest ways to rankle a chef).

When preferences get troublesome is if you entertain a lot- and like to please people. Which we do.

Last week we had to dinner the following constellation; the condiment hater, one who can’t abide avocado (except in guacamole?) and one for whom custard brings on night terrors.  Then there’s the husband- who beyond a dislike for fishy fish is not eating carbs these days.

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This was relatively easy. When it gets interesting is when we also throw in the fruit fearer and the egg hater.

I don’t have enough room in our flat for buffets and a safe life of serving chickpea salads and sausages doesn’t excite. The only solution I can find is a technical one.

Duke University have a register of adult picky eaters and so far more than 6,070 people have completed the registration, but more than 26 000 have begun the process. It’s about supporting those with the most extreme version of pickiness. But it’s also about plotting who are ‘super tasters’- those who have a higher concentration of taste buds and taste bitter flavours more acutely.

My register is a little smaller. It’s a spreadsheet.  If you’ve been to dinner at mine, there’s a good chance you’re on it. There’s a column for allergies. Another for ethical preferences. Then there’s one with a working title; ‘If you serve this to me, I will leave it in a pile on the side of the plate, or quietly whimper like a child’.

Next to that is another column.

It’s where I’ll put a big star if you tell me you happily eat everything.

Only six more servings of Vegemite toast to conquer. Then that star is mine.

What will you or your family not eat? Have any reformed? Are dinner parties a nightmare?