I am a notoriously picky eater. So picky that when we call in food orders at work I am usually forced to do the calling because no one wants to assume responsibility if my order is wrong. As a young child my grandfather would tell me the same story every time we visited, usually while we at Sunday dinner, about the summer that he "learned to like tomatoes." Yes, that is how it goes. He didn't like tomatoes and then learned to like them. His aunt, her name was Pete and the stories about her fascinate me but that is for another blog entry, came to visit and care for him while his parents were away. One evening grandpa and I'm assuming, his siblings too, were presented with a plate full of tomatoes for dinner. Nothing else. No bread, no meat of any kinds, just sliced tomatoes. He had two choices he would tell me, either eat the tomatoes or be hungry. Of course he chose to eat the tomatoes, and guess what? He learned to like tomatoes that summer. It didn't matter what was on the table, or what I was picking at on my plate, that story was told.
Now as an adult I wonder if Grandpa was right about learning to like new foods. I now like a variety of things that even a few years ago would not have crossed my lips; onions, asparagus, mustard and nuts all come to mind. So maybe a person can learn to like something if they just try it. I'm going to keep an open mind and maybe, just maybe, one day I can say I'm not a picky eater anymore. Until then, I will remember Grandpa sitting at the table telling me his story trying to convince me to just eat the tomatoes I was picking out of Grandma's green salad.
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