As an adult I’m allowed to say I don’t like particular foods. I don’t like squishy Squash. I don’t like dates. I don’t like fatty or creamy foods. I don’t like overcooked vegetables. I don’t like Coriander. I know kids who won’t eat tomatoes or mushrooms or even a single vegetable. When I was a kid though we couldn’t say we didn’t like the food, we had to eat what was on our plates but there was one time when I rebelled.
I was less than 6 because we were living in the house at Henley Beach when Quinces and Rice were dessert of the day. I refused to eat mine and my parents became so exasperated I was shut in the bathroom. (Would they be at risk of investigation by the Family and Community Services if they did that today?) I was supposed to stay there until I agreed to eat my dessert but I suspect eventually they just gave up. In our garden now is a row of Quince plants and each year they produce fruit, I watch them grow and ripen then enjoy seeing the big chunks eaten out by possums. They are welcome to every bit.
When I was travelling through the UK, staying in Youth Hostels I found making meals a real drag. I didn’t like cooking at any time but in a community kitchen it was even worse. One day I travelled for hours and I was starving so for the sake of simplicity I bought a can of Ambrosia Creamed Rice. I was just about drooling by the time I reached the Edinburgh Youth Hostel and the creamed rice tasted DELICIOUS. I’m sure that wasn’t the only time I ate it but I can say that it’s many, many years since I’ve felt hungry enough to think it was delicious.
You didn’t know that about Nana did you?