I hate broccoli and kale and cabbage, and the reason is science. Maybe.

My least favorite vegetable is broccoli. It is unpalatable. 

It's followed closely by kale, cauliflower, Brussels sprouts, and cabbage. I hate them all. 

I would like to like them. I really would. But I don't. I can't imagine why anyone likes these green, leafy monstrosities.

Yesterday, I may have figured out why I hate these vegetables so much. 

It turns out that all of these vegetables were genetically modified from a single plant. Over the generations, farmers and botanists manipulated a single plant in order to create all of the vegetables that I despise the most. 

That plant: Wild mustard.

And what is the only food that am I allergic to?

Mustard.

No wonder I hate those leafy piles of garbage. 

Scientists have already found evidence that that that broccoli (and its leafy cousins) are actually toxic to more than a billion people worldwide because of a component inside the vegetable that inhibits thyroid function, and that these people also find broccoli unpalatable.

Is it too much of a leap to presume that I find these food unpalatable because of their link to a food that causes me to break out in hives and compromises my respiration ?

It's a good reminder to all the food snobs of the world (and there are a lot of you) that taste is not a choice. We cannot control the foods that we like and don't like, and that if you enjoy the taste of many, many foods, you probably have fewer taste buds than a person like me - a confirmed super taster - who doesn't like a lot of foods.  

More importantly, perhaps my dislike for so many foods is my body's way of protecting me from their adverse effects. 

The two reasons that people like foods that they initially despise are exactly the two reasons that I still don’t like those foods.

I’m known to have a limited palate. It’s not as limited as many of my friends contend, but there are admittedly large numbers of foods that I do not like, including salad, a great number of vegetables, many nuts, most Asian cuisines, most sauces and dressings, and more. I also don’t drink coffee or alcohol. People have many theories on my limited palate. People like to express these theories to me often.

I have many theories on their more expansive palates, including the belief (backed by science) that we have little control over the foods that we find palatable, so shaming, harassing, or otherwise disparaging a person’s food preferences is insensitive and stupid.

My friend actually purchased a testing kit and confirmed that I am a supertaster, which means that I taste more flavors – and am therefore sensitive to more flavors – than the average person, which goes a long way to explaining my limited palate.

I am tasting all the awful flavors that your less effective taste buds are missing.

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Recently, Paul Rozin, a cultural psychologist at the University of Pennsylvania, has added to the research on food preferences. Rozin is especially interested in why people learn to love foods they initially hated, a phenomenon he calls “benign masochism.”

He has come up with two reasons to explain how this happens:

  1. Repeated exposure
  2. Social pressure

This explain a lot in terms of my limited palate.

Repeated exposure means that in order to learn to like a food that I don’t – say avocado – I would have to suffer again and again until I theoretically began liking it.

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This sounds insane. I have to eat a food that I can barely swallow without feeling ill or vomiting in order to expand my palate? There are far too many palatable foods in the world for me to spend time torturing myself over a food item that doesn’t even grow naturally where I live.

But it’s the aspect of social pressure that perhaps explains my palate best. I am and have always been a nonconformist in the most extreme sense of the word. Social pressures have never meant all that much to me, oftentimes to my detriment. The thought that I might eat a food that I consider unpalatable in order to better align myself with the people around me sounds ridiculous.

Then again, I am often sitting at the table in a restaurant, staring at people who are enjoying the salad course while I gnaw on a piece of bread and politely readjust my napkin on my lap.

This doesn’t bother me, but perhaps it would make most people uncomfortable.

Maybe it’s a person’s desire to join his friends for sushi after work on Fridays that causes him to find a way to enjoy eating something that should obviously be cooked before eating.

Maybe it’s the incessant fawning over guacamole – made right at the table! – that pushes the avocado hater over to the dark side and decide to dip a chip.

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Maybe it’s the pervasive, inexpensive nature of salad that causes so many people to adopt the dietary habits of small woodland creatures.

Rozin’s theory makes sense. If social pressures cause people to walk around with brand names plastered to their clothing and handbags and somehow think this is a good thing, then why would this not also apply to foods that initially make us feel ill?

Rozin also coins the term “hedonistic reversal” – the ability of our brain to tell our senses we’re going to turn something we should avoid into a preference. This applies to the person who decides that the spiciest buffalo wings are his favorite, mostly because he has become convinced that eating foods that most people find unpalatable makes him feel superior.

You know the type. These are the people who eat eye of newt because it’s the newest, latest food trend, and they want to appear cutting edge. Hip. Brave.

They never do. Instead, they often appear cloying. Desperate. Sad.

I’m not that kind of person, either. I hope.

I don’t know Kathleen Hampton, but based upon her lawsuit, I suspect that ‘entitled and insufferable” are likely descriptors.

Perhaps you’ve heard about the woman who wished to dine solo at a Portland, Oregon restaurant on Valentine’s Day and is now suing the restaurant because she claims she received rude service.

Kathleen Hampton is asking for $100,000 in damages and apologies both in person and in print in ‘the news and local newspapers,” so we already know – regardless of what actually happened that night – that she is insane.

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Insane is probably the wrong word. There are better choices:
Entitled. Myopic. Despicable. Miserable. Haughty. Insufferable. Undatable.  

Hampton claims that the restaurant refused to seat her because her reservation was for two but she was dining alone. She claims that the manager also refused to provide her with takeout service.

The restaurant’s manager tells a very story.

“She made reservation for two and when she got there, said: ‘Oh just by myself.’ We offered for her to sit at the bar with other single diners since Valentine’s Day is very busy and all we know is she got up and left without paying after she drank two glasses of wine.”

It was an amusing enough story on it’s own, but when I read the complaint, which Hampton filed herself, amusing quickly transformed into hilarious. I suggest you read the whole thing (which isn’t very long but is filled with hidden gems), but if you’re pressed for time, the section that Hampton has labeled “WHAT I WANT” is entertainment enough.

WHAT I WANT

I want to be made whole by public apology both in person and in writing in news and community newspapers. I don’t want this to happen to anyone in the inner North/Northeast area. When you don’t have business owners that don’t live in the area they don’t have a vested interest in community. I also want $100,000 to make sure all business owners on N.E Alberta know we are serious about our community

I chose not to reproduce the random spaces or superfluous capitalizations that Hampton frequently uses in her complaint, mostly because the actual demands that she makes say more about her character than any amusement that I might have at the expense of her writing skills.

It’s hard to imagine that people like this exist outside of fiction. Even if Hampton’s complaint is true, it’s hard to imagine why her husband or a family member or friend didn’t advise against these genuinely stupid demands, suggesting instead that perhaps this was not as big a deal as she seems to think and maybe restitution in the form of a free dinner or two at a restaurant of her choice might make more sense, rather than attempting to bankrupt a restaurant for what amounted to rude behavior.

50 Healthiest Foods of All Time: A large percentage are a mystery to me.

TIME lists the “50 Healthiest Foods of All Time.”

I have never eaten 14 of them.

I don’t actually know what nine of them are, but then again, do you know what kamut or farro or kefir are?

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The bad news is that I don’t like 31 of the foods on the list (presuming I don’t like the nine that I can’t identify).

The good news is that eggs, poultry, bananas, whole wheat bread, and cinnamon made the list.

Cheeseburgers, hot dogs, and ice cream cake did not, but perhaps they would’ve been items 51, 52, and 53.

The McRib is super healthy and nothing like a yoga mat

I have to assume that the McRib will be coming to Connecticut shortly. I ate three McRibs during a two day trip to Indiana in the fall, and according to the McRib locator (yes, it’s a thing), there are confirmed sightings in Oklahoma and a possible sighting in Weymouth, Massachusetts.

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There is hope.

As Andy Dufresne wrote to Red in The Shawshank Redemption:

Remember Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.

While I wait, I’m happy to report that the McDonald’s cherry pie has returned for a limited time. I introduced Elysha to the cherry pie years ago, and it ranks with things like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Battlestar Galactica, macaroni and cheese and hotdogs, and go-karting as some of the best things I’ve brought to her life.

If you doubt me, try one of those cherry pies and see for yourself.

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Before the McRib makes it’s mighty return, let’s c;ear up something that became known to me just yesterday regarding the sandwich.

It has been repeatedly reported that the McRib contains some of the same ingredients found in yoga mats and running shoes. I assumed that this was true but didn’t care because delicious is delicious.

It turns out that it’s not true. It’s merely a rumor, probably perpetrated by kale aficionados  or Whole Foods shoppers or Burger King enthusiasts.

Here’s the truth, from a fact sheet produced by McDonald’s:

The truth is a small amount of Azodicarbonamide, a common flour-bleaching ingredient, is used in our McRib bun. This is a common food additive and is used in many items on your grocer’s shelves, including many hot dog buns and other bread products that you probably already purchase. It is regulated under the FDA and is considered safe. It is not a yoga mat, plastic or rubber.

A variation of Azodicarbonamide has commercial uses and is used in the production of some foamed plastics, like exercise mats. But this shouldn’t be confused with the food-grade variation of this ingredient.

Yet rumors persist. Smug foodies ignorant nonconformists cite this nonsense all the time.    

Next time you hear this claim, push back on it, please. Say something like “Repeating incorrect facts that you probably heard third-hand and didn’t bother to confirm doesn’t make you knowledgeable about food. Just stupid about knowledge.” 

Wanted: Photographs of sofas and slippers and well appointed thermostats. Please?

My Facebook feed has been full of wine over the past couple days.

Wine glasses set before roaring fires. Wine glasses being clinked in celebration. Wine glasses standing beside the spines of books and sleeping dogs and flickering candles.

It’s a funny thing. I spent last night drinking cold water from a steel water bottle. It was refreshing. Delightful, really. But I’d never think to post a photograph of it on social media.

Yet alcohol, and especially wine, seems to be the drink de jour. The universal symbol of relaxation. Celebration. There are moments when it seems as if half of the status updates in my Facebook feed include alcohol of some kind. Photos from bars and restaurants. References to wine and beer and spirits. Lamentations about the need for more alcohol. Boasts about the amount of alcohol already consumed.

I don’t drink. I belong to the tiny fraction of the population that doesn’t have a drinking problem but simply opts to not drink. I’ll have a glass of champagne when celebrating with friends or rare glass of wine at dinner, but otherwise, a soda or a water does me just fine. Makes me quite happy, in fact.

But water and soda don’t possess the inexplicable prestige that alcohol does. Water and soda – in some high school kind of way – aren’t cool. Posting a photograph of my bottle of water on Facebook would be ridiculous.

Settling in for a night of reading, writing, and maybe a little TV with my beautiful wife and some cold water. #perfection

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Strange, Right?

But of all the things we could photograph to symbolize our relaxation, so many of us choose alcohol. I think it’s just as strange as my water bottle.

I sometimes wonder if all of this attention that alcohol receives isn’t the residue of a time when we couldn’t drink alcohol legally. When you’re 16 years-old and you start drinking, you feel mature. Sophisticated. Cool. Ahead of the game. Maybe those positive associations permanently attach themselves to alcohol in a way that causes people to view a glass of wine or bourbon as a powerful symbol of their adulthood. Their own prestige.

I didn’t start drinking until after graduating high school. Maybe I lack that residue.  

I’m spit balling here, I’ll admit. I guess what I really want to say is this:

What the hell is with all the photos of wine and references to spirits on Facebook, people? How about a photograph of our couch instead? Or the book that you’re reading? Or your slippers? Or the quilt that you have wrapped around your body? Aren’t all of these things just as relaxing as that glass of wine, strategically framed by the light of your fireplace?

How about an occasional sofa? Or a pillow? Or a thermostat set to a toasty 72 degrees?

If nothing else, for the sake of a little diversity. 

Pineapples once were popular party accessories. And not for eating.

Did you know that pineapples were such a status symbol in 18th century England that you could rent one for the evening to take to a party?

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This is also the reason there are pineapples atop some many trophies, such as Wimbledon men's singles trophy.

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People in 18th century England were very stupid.

Canned, jellied cranberry sauce will not go the way of the dodo (or the Twinkie) if I have anything to say about it.

For the lovers of canned, jellied cranberry sauce, here’s some terrifying news:

It would appear that this Thanksgiving Day staple is on the decline. When I went to the grocery store yesterday to pick up several cans of the stuff, I found it relegated to a two foot section of bottom shelf space in the baking aisle.

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And half of those three feet were occupied by the ugly stepchild of jellied cranberry sauce:

Whole berry cranberry sauce in a can.

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In addition, there was only one brand from which to choose, and only 12 cans in all. And before you propose that the limited quantity had something to do with Thanksgiving Day approaching, the entire area of shelf space afforded to canned, jellied cranberry sauce was filled.

There was only room enough for about 12 cans.

Whatever evil at work here must be stopped.

I have since learned that canned, jellied cranberry sauce is much more popular than I ever imagined. I apparently travel in foodie circles who view almost anything from a can as dog food. The typical cranberry sauce that I see is a homemade variety made from organically grown and personally harvested cranberries, mixed in with nuts, seeds, and other ingredients that have no business standing alongside cranberries.

Outside my food snob circles, though, canned cranberry sauce sales are not declining. 

I only pray that canned, jellied cranberry sauce is not like the Twinkie:

Universally beloved but rarely purchased.

A world without canned, jellied cranberry sauce would be too much to bear. 

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The McRib is back. It’s delicious. And there’s nothing wrong with it, you closed-minded, pretentious food snobs.

The weather is getting colder. Winter is upon us. You know what that means?

The McRib will be back soon. I can’t wait.

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I know what your thinking. I know how many of you feel about the McRib and McDonald’s in general. But wait. Just listen. 

After mentioning to my class that I often eat an Egg McMuffin for breakfast, one of my students told me that her father only allows her to eat Sausage McMuffins because he won’t let her eat “that processed McDonald’s egg.”

This makes me crazy.

Having managed McDonald’s restaurants for more than ten years and having made thousands of Egg McMuffins in my time, I know exactly how the Egg McMuffin is made.

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Take a fresh egg. Yes, an actual egg. Crack it into a poaching ring set atop the grill. Place a cover on top of the ring. Add water to a small cup on top of the cover in order to poach the egg faster.

Let it cook.

When done, lift the ring. Transfer the poached egg from the grill to a toasted English muffin. Add cheese and a slice of Canadian bacon that that has been cooking on the other side of the grill.

Real eggs. Real cheese. Real English muffin, Real Canadian bacon.

You may not like the sandwich, but it’s the same poached egg sandwich that you will find in any restaurant today.

In fact, if I were to avoid anything on the McDonald’s menu, it might be the sausage. Everything on the Egg McMuffin is fresh, including the Canadian bacon, which arrives to the stores refrigerated.

The sausage is frozen. It arrives in boxes. I can’t attest to the quality of that meat. 

The McRib suffers a similar stigma. Rumors abound about the ingredients of a McRib. People cringe when I tell them that I have eaten one. 

McDonald’s recently sought to demystify the secret of the McRib by taking a detractor and a skeptic to the plant that produces McRibs to show them the process.

I’ll let you be the judge.

Just like his mom. And his dad, actually.

Our son, Charlie, spent the evening cooking dinner with Elysha. He spends most of this time demanding his mother’s attention and hanging on her legs, so involving him in the cooking was a great way to keep him from getting underfoot.

He loved it.

They made chicken nuggets, breading them in Cornflakes.

It occurred to me that as much as he reminded me of his mother while cooking alongside her, I have made my own share of chicken nuggets, too.

Tens of thousands of them, at least, during my tenure at McDonald’s.

His chicken nuggets were probably admittedly more nutritious than any chicken nugget I ever made.

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Anything but a banana

My two year-old son was wearing monkey pajamas. My wife asked, “What do monkey’s eat?”

“Apples,” he said confidently.

“No…”

“Blueberries?”

No,” Elysha said. “I’ll give you a hint. It’s yellow.”

“Yellow Babybel cheese?”

“No,” Elysha said.

Charlie paused a moment. Really thought. Then answered. “Red Babybel cheese?”

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Friendly’s slogans leave a lot to be desired

A list of slogans from Friendly’s restaurants from over the years:

  • "You're in for a nice surprise" (1979–1982)
  • "There's no place like home" (1985–1989)
  • "Oh, that looks good!" (2010–2013)
  • "High 5, it's Friendly's!" (2011-2012)
  • "Oh yeah!" (2012-2013)
  • "Where ice cream makes the meal" (current)

Damn. That is not a good list.

“You’re in for a nice surprise.” Not exactly encouraging. “You thought this meal was going to suck, but really, it’s won’t. You’ll be surprised.”

“Oh, that looks good!” Again, not a confident declaration. More of a reversal of expectations. “You think your cheeseburger will look like a greasy sponge, but no, it actually looks like a cheeseburger!”  

“Oh yeah!” They paid someone to come up with that slogan? I’m no even sure how you would include this in ad copy.

“There’s no place like home.” I hope the company didn’t hire an advertising agency to come up with a phrase that existed long before The Wizard of Oz made millions from it. “Yes, it’s a cliché. It may be one of the greatest clichés of all time, and I don’t mean great in a good way. But it worked for the girl with the red slippers, so maybe it will work for us.”

No wonder the company had to be rescued from bankruptcy.

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Starbucks offers me one more reason to love my wife

As a follow-up to yesterday’s list of 99 reasons that I love my wife, I thought I’d add this:

My wife likes Starbucks very much. She enjoys Starbucks beverages as much as anyone I know. 

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Despite her devotion to the product, she has never whined for it.

Never demanded it.

Needed it.

Lamented its absence.

Bemoaned its scarcity via social media.

I love her so much for this.

Two conditions are required for justified embarrassment. If these conditions are not present, move on with your life.

Moomin Café in Tokyo has gained notoriety in recent weeks for their offer to seat gigantic stuffed animals across the table from solo diners in an attempt to reduce any discomfort from eating alone.

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Naturally, this would make any rationale person infinitely more uncomfortable.

Slate recently ran a piece entitled What It Is Like To Eat Alone at a Fancy Restaurant that opens with this sentence:

I hated eating alone. I've gone out of my way to avoid eating alone, because it makes me feel awkward and extremely self-aware.

I realize that this may sound naïve, but I fail to understand any discomfort that people feel with eating alone in any restaurant.

Embarrassment is a real emotion, and I certainly experience it on occasion.

The time when a student pointed out the enormous hole that my cat had chewed in the front of my woolen pants was embarrassing.

The time when I mistakenly called a person who I know well by the wrong name three times in the span of 30 minutes was embarrassing.

The time when I drove in the wrong direction on Fifth Avenue in front of the Metropolitan Museum of Art and had be assisted in a three-point turn by my grandmother-in-law’s doorman in the presence of my wife was embarrassing.  

But dining alone? This hardly seems embarrassing at all. This isn’t exactly high school. People aren’t sitting alone at a cafeteria table because their classmates have ostracized them.

Sometimes we find ourselves alone and in need of a meal. This does not indicate a failure of action or character. It’s reasonable for people to occasionally be alone at mealtime.

Moreover, I fail to understand embarrassment when it happens in front of people who we will never see again or when it happens absent an act of stupidity or thoughtlessness.

If you’re never going to see these people in the restaurant again, who cares?

If you haven’t done something incredibly stupid or thoughtless, who cares?

Even if the waiter and your fellow diners are laughing at you (and they are not because people are not nearly as interested in you as you think), you will never see these people again.

You’ve done nothing wrong.

Why feel embarrassment?

If you say something incredibly rude and your dinner companion throws a glass of water in your face and storms out of the restaurant, leaving you alone at the table, I would understand feeling embarrassed.

If you declined a dinner invitation with an annoying friend and was then spotted by that same friend eating alone, I’d understand feeling embarrassed.

But if you’re worried about what the middle-aged couple sitting to your left or the group of twenty-somethings sitting to your right are thinking about your decision to dine alone, you probably have a lot of room for personal growth.

A cashier recently commented on the wireless headphones that practically live on top of my head. She said, “I love the idea of those things, but I think I’d feel a little weird walking around with them. Don’t you worry what people think about them?”

“People?” I said. “No. Why would I care what you think about me? My wife and friends? Maybe.”

But in the case of my headphones, I still don’t care. Yes, they make me look different than almost everyone else around me, and yes, they even look a little silly at times. And it’s true that I get questions about them all the time, including comments like those of the cashier.

People question me about them all the time. 

But my wife sees the value to wearing them, and she blessedly accepts me for who I am (perhaps because she also tends not to care about what others think). It’s true that some of my friends and family have teased me about my headphones, but who cares? They’re not exactly rescinding their friendship in the process.

A few have made passive-aggressive comments about my decision to wear my headphones, but making a passive-aggressive comment is much more egregious and potentially embarrassing than wearing a pair of headphones for much of the day.

One or two people have actually approached my wife, questioning my decision to wear my headphones as often as I do, but she rightfully dismissed these comments by asking these individuals to file their complaint with me instead of her.

Despite what some may think, she’s not my mother.

I feel embarrassed when I do something stupid or thoughtless in the presence of people who I care about and respect.

I feel like this is the appropriate bar for embarrassment. Absent these two conditions, I rarely feel embarrassed. 

None of these conditions apply to dining solo. If you’re feeling embarrassed about eating alone in a restaurant, reject the stuffed animal, order the prime rib, and get over it.

It’s likely that the only person in the restaurant who is even aware of your solitary status is you.

A simple solution to the lemon and lime shortage that will improve your life at the same time

Perhaps you’ve heard that there is a shortage of lemons and limes in the US.

The average U.S. grocery store now commands 53 cents per lime, up from 21 cents this time last year. The problem originates in Mexico, which now exports more than 90 percent of American’s limes.

May I offer a solution?

Stop demanding that wedges of lemons and lime be placed on your glass of soda at restaurants.

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There was a time, not too long ago, when the vast majority of sodas in the world were served  without a citrus garnish, and everyone was perfectly happy with their beverage.

Then one day, for reasons probably lost to antiquity, servers began delivering sodas with lemons and limes hanging off the edge of the glass, and suddenly it became a requirement.

For the vast majority of Americans, lemons and limes aren’t exactly locally grown, so eliminating them from your beverage will not only help in solving the lemon and lime shortage, but it will be helpful to the environment, too.

And let’s face it:

It’s a little pretentious to require a lemon wedge on the edge of your glass every time you drink a Coke. 

Why not just go back to a simpler time when lemon and lime garnishments were not an expectation?

Simplicity and minimalism are truly beautiful things.

We don’t always treat kids fairly when it comes to food and choice

Mark Oppenheimer writes a piece in the New York Times entitled Let Them Drink Chocolate, in which he argues that parents are not fair and just when it comes to our decisions to limit our children’s diet, television consumption and the like.

He writes:

As a parent, I think that it’s time to declare a period of benign neglect when it comes to food. Today, too many Americans make a virtue, even a fetish, of monitoring what goes into our children’s mouths. Rather than raising our children to consume in moderation — whether food, drink, drugs or screen time — we forbid them pleasures that adults take for granted.

We serve them juice boxes rather than soda, fruit rather than ice cream. Yet grown-up dinner parties, which begin with glasses of wine or cocktails, end with rich desserts. Children are deprived of television, or limited to a couple of hours a week, but after the kids are in bed parents catch up on “Game of Thrones.”

I often think the exact same thing.

My wife and I do not monitor everything that goes into our children’s mouths. Because my daughter has a peanut allergy, we are cognizant of what she is eating, but we are not a family hell-bent on only serving organic fruits and vegetables and artisanal breads. We have never kept a written recorded our children’s food intake (which is more common than you might think) and do not stress over high fructose corn syrup.  

But when it comes to choice, our children are like most. They eat what we serve, even when we are catering to our daughter’s somewhat limited, vegetarian palate. They may have choices in restaurants, and there are times when my daughter can choose between a yogurt and an applesauce or an apple and a pear, but there are many times when the children have no input whatsoever in the food being served.

As a result, there are days when our daughter (and even our not-quite two year old son) express displeasure in our caloric offerings.

In these moments, I often find myself thinking how exceedingly rare it is for an adult to be required to eat a food that he or she has not specifically chosen.

I may like spaghetti, but if I’m not in the mood for spaghetti on a given day, no one requires me to eat it.

I may love prime rib, but if I happen to want ice cream for dinner, that’s what I eat.

Even though adults understand and accept that there are days when we are not interested in eating even our most favorite foods, we discount a child’s same inclination. We believe, for reasons that perhaps harken back to a time when food was more scarce, that children should eat whatever is placed before them, or at least try it, damn it, even if it smells terrible to them or reminds them of the salamander that they saw earlier that day smeared on the driveway.

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We’re not always so nice to kids.

As a kid, I remember feeling this way often. I felt like I didn’t have enough control over my life, which is astounding given the fact that I grew up in a time when I could leave the house on a summer day at 8:00 in the morning and return at 6:00 that evening without encountering a single adult for the entire day.  

Still, I had little control over what I ate. Even when it came to school lunch, there was no choice. 

And food was just the tip of the iceberg in terms of adult control over my life. Perhaps this feeling of constant adult intervention was the reason I was not always the most well behaved boy and sought ways to rebel.

I’ve never liked to be told what to do. I think most people feel this way.

Kids, too.   

I understand that parents must make many choices on their child’s behalf. We use our wisdom and life experience to guide our children in making good choices. We try to teach them to make what we define as good choices. This often means limiting our children’s choices altogether.

All of this is a necessary part of parenting.  

But I think it would be wise to try to remember what it was like to be a kid, with little control over your life.

You may not allow your child to suddenly choose ice cream for dinner, but you may be less frustrated and slightly more understanding when your child says that he’s not in the mood for carrots tonight, even though he was thrilled with carrots last week.     

As adults, we do the same thing. Why expect any less from our children?