that deviates from mush, and basically no taste zestier than cardboard; he’ll
I firmy believe that I am married to just about the finickiest eater alive. I’m glad
he’s not a cat because he’d turn up his nose at every bowl of kitty food I sat
in front of him. It would seem that the only kind of food Tim actually DOES like
to eat is that of the ultra-bland variety; as long as there’s no spice, no texture
eat it. Maybe...
Call me crazy but I actually like food that’s bursting with flavor. Delectable recipes abound fill the pages of numerous wonderful cookbooks in my kitchen and they’re all begging me to try them out. But what would be the point? I’d be the only one enjoying them as my son, Cameron, has also taken to walking in his father’s finicky footsteps.
What really gnaws my noodle is the fact that he actually loves the way the house smells when I fry up onions and peppers. Recently he even went so far as to say, “Gee, that smells so good; I really wish I wasn’t against eating them.” Incidentally, he’s never even tried them.
The man will eat tomato sauce, spaghetti sauce, pizza sauce, and put ketchup on pretty much anything that doesn’t move; but sit a tomato in front of him and he acts like an exorcist should be called upon. Also, if chunks of tomato show up in any of the aforementioned sauce, he’ll painstakingly pick it out and sit it on the side of his plate with contempt, loathing, and disgust abound.
Then there’s the stuff that really makes no sense; he won’t get near anything that’s spicy—save for one exception--he will eat five-alarm chili so blazing hot it could burn a hole in the ozone. And once,when he was out with a bunch of guys, Tim actually went right ahead and ate squid. SQUID. It had to have been one of those “guy-trying-to-be-macho-to-show-off-for-other-guys” type of thing, as he’d flee from the table and hide out in the darkest depths of the basement if I ever even hinted at preparing something like that.
And last but certainly not least, let’s not leave out his aversion to coffee. It’s not because he’s ever drank it and didn’t approve of the taste; oh no, that might also make sense. It’s because he’s firmly decided—and these are his words, not mine—that if he were to drink it, it would mean he was a grown-up. They say a picture’s worth a thousand words? I think the above statement’s worth about a million. ;)