I am a picky eater. Well, at least I was before I came out West.
I grew up in the South and didn't move out to California until I was almost 22. That's 21 years of eating good, down-home cooking. 21 years of not trying new things, of being in a rut, of having these stubborn thoughts of, "Oh I don't like that" without even really trying.
In California, everything is fresh! And green! And not fried! And not doused in ranch dressing!
An adjustment, my friends, it was a definite adjustment for me.
And what I've found in the last 9 years out here is that I actually do like a lot of things. Things I never thought I liked before.
Things like:
- beets (tasted like dirt)
- bbq eel (too scratchy)
- wasabi peas (too spicy...what?)
- fried eggs (too yolky)
- sour cream (too creamy)
- mustard (bleh)
- cherries (only maraschino for me, thankyouverymuch)
- olives (too briny)
- martinis (too vodka-y)
- onions (too strong)
- mushrooms (too slimy)
The list could go on and on. I will say that I now LOVE most everything on the list above. I'm still working on the mustard, but I know that I would eat my own hand if it was covered in sour cream.
What I've learned from my changing taste buds is that sometimes I get so driven about how much I don't like something, that I can't see past that perception to the wonder that is a salad with roasted beets (omg, yum!).
The metaphors abound! I used to think that I wasn't an artist because I'm not a very accurate sketcher. That I couldn't sell my paintings to the public because I wasn't one of those artsy types. That I would have to spend my life in a 9-5 desk job that I was just-okay because it was what you did, because it was the only way to get by. Because I had no other choice.
I know now that I have a choice. That there is an alternative. That there is another way. And I'm finding it for myself. Now. With an open mind.
Now if only I could get over my fear of mayonnaise, we'd be all set!
