By Al Owens
I have a confession to make. I canít taste lettuce. I think it must be some kind
of personal quirk, but Iíve never gotten as excited as most of the people around
me about lettuce. When I see it on a hamburger, lettuce always seems to get in
the way of the good stuff. When I order a salad, I need to drown it in some kind
of dressing to make it have any kind of taste. But then Iím pretty sure I donít
really taste the lettuce - just the dressing.
Iím saying all of this to say, because Iím admittedly a finicky eater. Or as my
mother used to say, ďYouíre SUCH a finicky eaterĒ!
I donít think Iím alone. I love pizza. But the mere thought that my pizza will
have the faint odor and taste of a fish, doesnít do anything for me. And, quite
frankly, I donít think Iíve ever known anybody who asked for anchovies instead
Sardines donít really do much for me either. I like fish. But I simply donít
think Iíll ever have a taste for a family of them that comes out of some funny
shaped can. Iím just too finicky for that. Iíve learned to live with the fact
that tuna comes out of a can. Itís sardines where I draw the line.
Oh, Iím not one of those people Iíve heard of who strangely wonít allow their
peas to touch their carrots, or their candied yams to overlap into region of
their corn. Iíve known people (usually when they were about six years-old)
whoíve done that. In fact, Iíve even heard of people who will go so far as to
eat their peas, then their carrots, then their apple sauce and finally their
roast beef. They eat one side dish at a time, until they reach their meat. Iím
not like that. Iím just finicky!
I donít mind soup. I just donít see the point of eating tomato soup. Why not
just eat a tomato?
I wonít eat popcorn without an over-abundance of salt. I wonít go near potato
chips that come out of a can. I wonít even look at pigís feet.
This brings up another of my finicky habits. I have a hard time eating animals
that look like they did when they were alive. If cheeseburgers looked like a
tiny steer, Iíd probably become a vegetarian. Fortunately, chicken legs and
breasts donít look like they did when they were attached to real chickens. The
only animal I seem not to be leery of that sort of looks the way it did when it
walked the earth is a turkey. But I still have turkey nightmares from
time-to-time. What about you?
Vegetables that come out of a can, with few exceptions, have always been a
curiosity to me. Canned green beans? Iíll pass. I recently had some canned
asparagus. Yuck! If money doesnít grow on trees, why do people think that
vegetables can grow in a can? Especially something they call ďcreamed cornĒ.
Thereís some food we finicky eaters wonít eat, because of its name.
Okra? Now thereís a funny name for a vegetable thatís never passed through these
lips. Refried beans? Come on now. Who wants to eat something thatís been fried
I know youíre probably asking, ďwell what does he eatĒ? I like spaghetti. But if
you call spaghetti ďnoodlesĒ, you can have it. Iím too finicky for that. I also
love cauliflower and broccoli. This is rather odd to me because I canít stand
the way they smell while theyíre cooking. I just love cheese. Most kinds, that
is. I wonít go near something called ďheadĒ cheese. I canít get over the mental
picture that particular form of cheese conjures up. Iím happy to eat potatoes in
all forms except out of cans and those things they call potato pancakes.
Well, I donít eat groundhog. I have a tough time even sitting in the same room
as liver. If you bring liver in here, Iím gone! And I donít care how you cook
it, it still tastes like liver to me. And I donít really care how good itís
supposed to be. The only liver that will ever be inside this body is the one I
had when I was born.