I am the world's pickiest eater.
Ask anyone, they'll tell you it is true.
My parents will recall the tale of one fine Lenten Friday where I spent over SIX hours sitting at the kitchen table because I refused to eat one stinkin' fish stick. I still refuse to eat them.
My husband can tell countless stories of the lip-smacking cuisine he has poured his heart into (bacon and jalapeno wrapped quail, homemade Texas chili, pork chops) that I won't touch. Many a night he has eaten a Filet Mignon and I dine on grilled cheese and veggies. Amazingly, we are both happy with our dinners.
There is no method to my eating madness, either. I used to tell people I was a vegetarian. It soothed alot of egos at dinner parties when I wouldn't eat the main course, but it's not true. I love bacon and I eat homemade tacos and bratwurst.
But that's about it. I will not touch chicken or any other kind of poultry. (Really, won't touch it. The Hubs has to cook that stuff. Yuch.) I hate fish - except I love sushi and have just begun eating tuna rolls and California rolls. I don't think I will ever be ready for sashimi.
I won't touch steak. (And, yes, I am from Texas. I know. I think that's why they kicked me out of the state.) I hate pork chops. I refuse to eat hamburgers or other "meat" products at fast food places unless I am wasting-away-to-nothing-can-you-still-see-me-when-I-turn-sideways starving. The list really could go on and on.
So I guess I have no reason to complain because my kiddo won't eat his turkey, ham and cheese sandwich unless it's grilled. At least he eats it.