I don’t consider myself a picky eater. I reserve that title for my two little girls, Lola, 4, and Eva, 2, who have turned picky eating into an art form. Most days, Eva eats nothing, and Lola eats a carb-only diet of bread and fruit, with the occasional cheese or carrot stick. Sigh. But when my husband Kevin found some research online that claims that picky eating is genetic, I was forced to look at my own food habits, and found some evidence to support the theory that my girls inherited more than my dark hair and eyes. They also inherited their love of French bread and mangoes. Here are a few odd, universally popular things that I absolutely detest:
potatoes (I only like them fried!)
chicken (I will eat dark meat, but nothing turns me off more than a dry chicken breast! and I hate the smell)
salmon (I only like it smoked)
On the other hand, I like a lot of unusual things. So let me eat my sour cream from the tub with a spoon and drink a barrel-sized cup of hot tea and leave me alone. I am NOT a picky eater!
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