Foods That Just Don’t Do It For Me

I’ll try almost anything foodwise once. I loved clams and spinach in my early elementary years; one of the most memorable meals I had in adulthood was on a trip to Chinatown with a coworker of Hubby’s who was from Taiwan. Within our parameters, she did the ordering. I have no clue what we ate, but oh, my, was it good.

However, there are some foods that I just do not care for at all. I just don’t like them. Period. I will take a bite or two for politeness’ sake, but please do not try to feed me the following:

  • Kale. I really don’t care for kale very much. I have tried it in salads, braised in ginger, garlic, and soy, and in green drinks. I don’t hate it; I just don’t care for it for some reason. Yes, I know it’s supposed to be the best thing since the last big trendy veggie, but I just don’t like it. In chips (de-stem, spread on baking sheet, sprinkle with melted coconut oil and garlic, and bake at 350 for 10 min. or until crunchy), yes, but otherwise, no, thank you.
  • Bananas. Between the dizzying amount of sugar, the pasty texture, and the trigger for memories of mashing them up for Orion his last days, spare me these. I like banana baked goods and in green drinks where the protein powder and berries or cherries mask their presence, but sweet Baby Jesus, keep them away from me. 
  • Most pork products. Yuck. Bacon on occasion, but ham and the rest? YUCK. Especially on pizza. YUCK YUCK YUCK YUCK! If I had a dollar for every piece I gagged down when I was in college to keep peace with roommates or while trying to impress a date, I could make a significant donation to some worthy cause.
  • White wine. Even when sipping mindfully, the only notes I detect are rubbing alcohol and lighter fluid.  
  • Raw mushrooms and cauliflower. No. 
  • Donuts. The combo of the fat and sugar and the texture repel me. Except for the one’s from Freddy’s, the long-demised donut shop of my childhood that cranked out perfect cake-like glazed cherry ones.

 Other than that, I’m pretty easy to feed. Nothing hip and trendy, please, and make it nicely seasoned. And I will be a happy WolfMama, indeed

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