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Most every family has one member who is a picky eater. In our family, it was me. It
made no difference whether or not I had ever tried something, my mind was already made up. I wasn't going to eat a particular food and that was that. During the years we lived in New Jersey, my father always rented a cabin for a week or two at Lake Winnipesaukee. Naturally, we'd stop for lunch on the way. It never failed, my chosen lunch would be grilled cheese or pb&j sandwich. Even though the family tried to get me to order something different, I wouldn't. One night when my sister was in the kitchen helping Mom get dinner ready, I was offered a piece of lettuce. The first words out of my mouth were "I don't like it." Again she tried to get me to eat it, but to no avail. Finally, she gave it to me saying "shove it in your mouth and eat it, for Pete's sake, before Dad comes downstairs for dinner," Then I would have been in trouble big time. Well, what do you know? It was okay. There really was no taste, mostly water. With age I have improved. My taste buds now welcome a more varied food selection. Especially when it comes to wine, as my Saturday dinner companions well know. September 02, 2011
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