I used to be really fussy; didn't like mushrooms, celery, tea, coffee, less-processed meat (all I'd eat was sausages, burgers, mince and chicken breast), gravy (a stew/casserole/pie: lovely. Gravy in a boat to pour on a plateful of food: GET YOUR FILTH AWAY FROM ME)... or salt and pepper. Always loved sprouts though, cooked anywhere from properly (ie crunchy) through the white, soggy mush that my grandma served.
I'm now pretty much "cured" - I still hate coffee (although I don't gag at the faintest smell of it these days) and celery, don't really go for poultry/fowl on the bone (chicken legs/wings - too much effort in the picking and chewing, which makes me retch slightly) but apart from that, I'm unlikely to turn anything down. Especially a big, bleeding lump of cow. Oh, but fish - if there's a chance it's got bones I can be stabbed and/or suffocated by, I'm not fucking having it in my mouth. And salmon is just grim.
I don't get the (not) touching thing; with a plate of something like a roast, with many veg, multiple meats and/or potatoes, whatever, I like to make sure I've had as many combinations as possible on the cud, by the end. Carrots+mash, beans+mash, meat+mash, beans+carrots, etc. All the way up to a bit of everything, which can be embarassing as I attempt not to choke on a dozen food items in my mouth at once. Then again, with added gravy. Oddly though, if we're having salad with something, I'll find myself wolfing down the entire salad first, then starting on the main part of the dish.
I've managed to turn Charl's opinion of broccolli around, and she'll touch raw chicken to prepare it now, but she still refuses to even consider the thought of cauliflower, because "it looks like brains". I miss cauliflower.
Oh, and I wouldn't eat apples for about 15 years because of that telly programme that had a maggoty one as it's opening video. Likewise, I wouldn't go near cabbage for a decade because my dad forgot to wash some, once. I noticed the caterpillar this close >< to my mouth. I was uneasy about tomatoes for a while after being served one with a grub in it at Chester Zoo, in my cooked breakfast. "Dear Mr Norton, after lab analysis we can say that what you found was a tomato grub." No shit, really, the grub in my tomato was a tomato grub? Wow.
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