Growing up a picky eater was no easy feat. My mother would always have to cook me a separate dinner because I don't know what "London broil" is, but I do know it isn't going anywhere near my mouth. My family is a group of very adventurous eaters; they will try anything. We used to call my sister the human garbage disposal — behind her back of course! I, on the other hand, was completely content with my buttered noodles, plain chicken or grilled cheese.
This lifestyle was manageable as a child, but as I grew up, the secondary meals and vast options diminished for me. I had two choices: starve or try new foods. I chose the latter.
The college dining halls are intimidating for us picky eaters. We don't have the option of having our mother make us something else to eat. What's made for you is what you have to eat. The first time I stepped into the dining hall in my dorm I froze in front of what looked to me like chicken but smelled like an expired jar of mushrooms.
The name plate said, "Chicken Marsala" and mushrooms were far out of my culinary comfort zone. Moving on down the line, there was an assortment of lettuce and fresh veggies to make salads. With no other options, I placed a small piece of chicken marsala on my plate. It sloshed around in the sauce, making it, even more, revolting. The salad came next. I chose a spinach salad with cucumbers and Italian dressing, the blandest ingredients I could find.
I sat down at a table, fork and knife in hand. Staring down at the mess of chicken and vegetables on my plate, I took one deep breath in and started eating. To my complete surprise, the chicken tasted nothing like it smelled. The sauce was delicious, and while I still picked around the mushrooms (hey, we can't conquer every obstacle at once), it was edible. Finishing my dinner that night, I felt accomplished. Contrary to my belief, nothing horrible happened by trying something other than grilled cheese.
As the year progresses, I found myself trying new things all the time. Everything from crab legs to meatloaf. Eating new food, albeit daunting at times, is exciting and adventurous.
Trying new things can be scary, but most of the time it is well worth the struggle. Culinary cowardice is a distant memory for me and it should be for all picky eaters. Every once in a while, try what your mothers have cooked for you instead of asking for buttered noodles. Who knows, you may even like the London broil she cooked! I know I sure do.
