Lets play a game! I’m going to give you a scenario and you tell me if you can relate.
You’re at dinner with – lets say – 3 other friends. You’ve sat down at your designated, beautifully decorated, wooden table. A small see through brown bottle holds daises and a vanilla scented candle is burning to set just the right mood. You’ve already tasted and approved the bottle of chianti you are splitting between the four of you. “Italian wine is very good” your date says, and you all nod in agreement.
When the waiter comes back over he flips back the cover of his note pad to find a clean page and starts to take notes while the first person orders, then the next person goes, and then the next. Easy. Then you get to the fourth person whose face in still buried in the menu. Said person looks up from the menu innocently into the waiters eyes and says something like, “I’ll have this plate please (points)(pause), BUT can I…”
And the list is endless! Oh the audacity! The nerve!
In case you lost the game because you are not This person or you don’t have a friend that is, This person is a picky eater. This person has almost no respect for the chef and his kitchen staff, even the hostess is without courtesy! This person has changed the food-brain-child of another person. This person wanta what they like the way they love it at the exact time they want it, and I adore them for it.
I can’t get enough of these people! It’s just like them to order spaghetti carbonara but after additions and subtractions end with spaghetti puttanesca with garlic bread on the side.
She would deny this if she had the chance but the best picky eater I know is my sister. She’s a picky eater in the way that she wants her favorite foods all the time, not in the way that she’s trying to avoid tasting anything. She just really likes every plate served the way her belly is asking for it.
Now, I could show you countless photos of plates she’s “improved” but you wouldn’t be able to spot the difference without a comparison. So! I’m sharing the picture below which accompanies the pictures from our meal at The Diner, Trunk’s day time cafe, in the Melbourne CBD. (We had an outrageously delicious breakfast experience there that will be repeated before Summer ends.)
Okay, this is why I wish I was a picky eater. I too was in her same diner (haha!); I couldn’t decide between poached or fried eggs, but I didn’t dare have the courage to say it to my family. I knew I had to decide. Then my sister, with all the confidence in the world, looks up at the waitress and orders one fried egg and one poached egg with her toast, avocado and bacon. My jaw dropped to the floor. I guess it’s true what I say: the picky eater gets the happiest belly.