Written Jan 1, 2017


When I was six or seven years old, my mom took me to our family doctor once when I was sick.

Doctor, checking all my vitals: Does he seem to be eating okay?

Mom: Well, it seems like he doesn’t like very much what I cook.

Doctor: Does he tell you that he doesn’t like it?

Mom, with sad eyes, nodded.

When the doctor turned toward me, he had fire in his eyes.

I was scared.

“Do you mean to tell me that you tell your mother that you don’t like her cooking!”

Not a question.

I didn’t answer.

“I don’t EVER want to hear this from your mother, again!”

I never again, in my life time, told anyone that I didn’t like something they cooked.

Lesson learned.

Now, I find myself very intolerant of those who haven’t received this training in their life.

If you never tasted it, you cannot know you won’t like it!

Ironically, I have discovered that making yourself eat things even when you don’t think you will like them greatly increases the number of flavors you really do like.

Exceptions: boiled eggs, deviled eggs, egg salad.

I still won’t say it out loud.

A simple, “No thank you,” will do.

But, I did try to like them.

One time, some customers of mine offered me lunch while I was working at their house. Sure, I would like that.

They placed in front of me egg salad sandwiches. And grapes.

No water.

Have you ever tried washing down a gagnacious bite of food with a grape?

I have.

Please, don’t offer me egg salad.

I wouldn’t ever tell you I don’t like it.


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