Adventures of a Picky Eater

Last night for supper, as a plate was placed in front of me, I could only think, “What is this abomination...?” They’d taken one of my favorite things—meat—and put it into a position of submission to that which is most vile and wretched: red peppers. Not wanting to appear displeased or unappreciative, I put on a surprised smile and said “Oh! Mulțumesc!” (Thank you), knowing that I would soon be in misery.

So far, this semester has been one surprise after another. Especially with food. I’ve never considered myself a “picky” eater, especially since I love backpacking and other outdoors experiences, many of which include eating random items from the “natural” world. But several of the foods that I had previously deemed “inedible to any sane person,” –namely mushrooms, olives, tomatoes, and, yes, red peppers—appear to be some of the most common delicacies. Brilliant.

It began on our backpacking trip through Retezat National Park. After our first day of hiking, our Romanian guides had found, cut up, and had begun preparing the largest mushrooms I had ever seen. Preparing them, apparently, for human consumption. I had never been more disgusted in my life. But, mustering up an adventurous spirit, I took some. And ate it. And it…was delicious! Absolutely, positively, without a doubt delicious! I’d never been more shocked! I took some more, and it was even better! The crack in my wall had begun.

It continued when my host-mother made, what she called, “pizza.” It was essentially toasted bread covered in a cheese-like substance, sprinkled with a few shreds of mystery meat, and decked out to the max with mushrooms, olives, tomatoes, and red peppers. All that is vile in the world was concentrated on this pizza. But, remembering my experience with the mushrooms, I took a bite with a smile. And it was great! Once again, I couldn’t believe my taste buds! I must’ve eaten about half a pan of that pizza…

Since then, I’ve been willing to go a little further, try other things that I had never liked, even taking the time to slice a tomato just to put it on my own sandwich. Realization of how much transformation I’d gone through occurred to me when I walked into our classroom building lunchroom and asked the other students, “Are there anymore tomatoes?” I never imagined that I would say something like that… Truly, I had come very far.

But then, last night, my host mother went too far. Even with all the memories of being surprised by Romanian cooking, stuffed peppers were one step over the edge. Just the smell of those horrid monstrosities brought my nose hairs to a boil. Nothing could make me enjoy these obscenities, these anathemas.

But, once again mustering all my adventurous spirit, I cut a piece, stuck it with a fork, brought it to my mouth, and tasted.

I cleaned my plate within a matter of minutes.

Moral of the story: Never judge a book by its cover. Don’t be afraid to try new things. And above all, always trust your mother, biological or otherwise.