Growing up, my sister was a relatively picky eater, which annoyed me
since I tended to eat everything. And lots of it. I loved (and still
love) variety in taste, texture, smell, quality, preparation, and
ingredients. But as a big pouter who could stubbornly resist a single
bite of anything on her plate, my sister and her tastes often dictated
the dinner menus. I understand that now that I’m a parent, but, man, I
vowed back then to surround myself with only the most adventuresome of
palates.
Naturally, I married someone whose food preferences make the childhood version of my sister appear ...
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