Picky eaters

Picky eaters

My kids’ $75 worth of food at the Hawaiian luau tonight.

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One thought on “Picky eaters

  1. i’ll never understand this “picky eater” business. you certainly didn’t get if from the Kimball boys side of the family. we ate everything and would probably have eaten oleander leaves had they been put before us. we looked at meals as a way to stop the hunger and nothing more (well, maybe a time to torment younger brothers but i’m sure that was all). we ate whatever was put before us with two rare exceptions. Bobby wouldn’t eat mashed potatoes (how can anyone not like mashed potatoes?) and Richard wouldn’t eat peas. this, following a tearful episode of getting one stuck in his ear (wisely, he had kept his mouth shut about how and who stuck it there).

    i remember my mother introducing us to chicken hearts. she prefaced the night’s entree with, “i really shouldn’t serve you boys this because THIS is the food that builds muscles and strength so fast that you can almost watch them grow and feel your power increase. it’ll be sad to see you grow almost overnight into big, strong musclemen because this is the secret food that does it.” we dug in ravenously and then, like the morons we were, raced to the mirror to watch our muscles bulge. a lot of her decision to let us try this was based on the fact that she was able to buy this dish at El Rancho Market – who for some reason categorized it as a near equivalent to rendered offal – for 18 cents a pound.

    the other food introduction that stands out to me is artichoke. it was served as a delicacy and something that only the rich were able to afford. we loved it primarily because it served as a vehicle by which we could eat butter… we all loved butter. we would sit around 2 or 3 of the heads, picking off the leaves as they became smaller and more translucent and then, when it was reduced to its furry flat top and we considered ourselves finished, we would run outside to play. i remember coming back in to get something and finding my mother sitting at the table and contently eating what she had passed off as “the inedible part” – commonly known as the heart. i think that, like beer, she’d explained, “it’s an “adult taste” and something that you boys might like when you grew up.” i mean, sometimes i feel we were so abysmally cretinous that there was an odor of dunce about us all.

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