I’ve known quite a few picky eaters. A roommate once dated a guy for a year who would only eat in chain restaurants. (My reaction: “And you went on more than one date with him?”) A friend is terrified of mayonnaise and begins to hyperventilate at the mere thought of mayo being in anything she’s already ingested.* And I once dated a guy who wouldn’t eat eggs or anything with even a hint of spice. (That relationship ended very, very quickly.)
But that was nothing compared to some of the people interviewed for this Globe and Mail article. One guy will only eat dry chicken, well-done steak and sauce-free veggies. (That’s him in the video, attempting to eat pizza, which he did not like. Who doesn’t like pizza?!) Then there’s the other guy who has eaten the same thing for lunch for the past decade: peanut butter on crackers with a glass of milk.
The first inclination is to label them spoiled brats — which they are, to the same extent we all are; none of us is threatened with starvation, so we have the luxury of picking and choosing what we eat — but after reading through the comments too, I’m beginning to think that this isn’t just some childish thing. These people have a serious disorder. Imagine how socially crippling it would be to not be able to hold down most foods. It made me feel a bit sympathetic towards these ridiculously picky eaters.
That said, God help me if I ever give birth to a picky eater. I love food too much, and I just don’t have that kind of patience.