MATTHEW BURNETTE

Staff Writer

You probably wouldn’t be able to tell it just by looking at me now, but there was a time in my life where I fell into the category of what the most qualified scientists and child psychologists would refer to as a “picky eater.”

I was always the kid that you would find at the chicken nuggets and pizza section of our local buffet that offered Asian cuisine.

Though I’ve become more adventurous of an eater since the days of my youth, there are still those specific items that I refuse to eat.

However, unlike a lot of “picky eaters,” I’m very confident in my abilities to justify my particular distaste for every food that I don’t like.

Emphasis on the word “particular.”

Tomato chunks.

There is no greater pleasure during the summer season than a nice turkey sandwich with mayo, cheddar cheese and a big slice of a freshly ripened tomato. I also enjoy ketchup and most types of spaghetti and pizza sauces.

That being said, I better not find a large piece of cooked tomato.

I’ve been told that I am ridiculous for this one, but there are just some things that you experience in life that stick with you.

When I was six years old, I had the unfortunate occasion of having to go and have my tonsils taken out.

The experience was bad enough from the nurses taking me to surgery in a red wagon but not checking to make sure my gown was closed in the back as if they were throwing a one float parade featuring my backside to waking up afterwards and noticing that no one I knew was nearby, leading me to yell for my mom.

Not great after having your tonsils taken out, but the worst part was after when the doctor came in with a little plastic jar to show me my two little tonsils floating around in a liquid of some sort.

You know what two child-sized tonsils look like in a jar? Tomato chunks.

Onions.

I can handle an onion if it’s cooked down to add some flavor to a dish, and onion powder has never bothered me.

But I’ve just never understood the appeal of a raw onion. Why ruin a good thing with something that’s crunchy and spicy?

Also, I did one day witness my uncle leave nearly a second degree burn on his lip from biting into an onion ring. Granted, you can chalk that one up to him not waiting for them to cool, but if an onion can come for him like, why shouldn’t I believe it would do the same to me?

Mushrooms.

You guys know that those things are fungi, right?

Often cited by world renowned chefs and food critics as an excellent source of “earthiness,” to my palate that translates to “tastes like dirt.”

Mushrooms to me are the second most texturally problematic food out there as well. Raw, they’re springy like a fresh kitchen sponge, but cooked they’re wet and squishy like a not so fresh kitchen sponge.

If not slimy like a slug, that is.

Shrimp. The most texturally problematic.

Now, part of my aversion to shrimp is that my mom is allergic to them, so they weren’t really around that much growing up. But the first time I remember trying shrimp, the same uncle who burned his lip on an onion ring waited until I was just about to put a piece of shrimp in my mouth and then referred to it as “the cockroach of the sea.”

I haven’t been able to eat it since then. Go figure.

There are several others on my list. Tofu? Looks like cheese, tastes like water. Oysters? Look like boogers, plus I had to watch my brother slurp them down at restaurants enough to make them seem unappealing. Olives? If I wanted to eat an eyeball, I’d just eat an eyeball.

Scratch that, I wouldn’t and don’t want it to seem like eyeballs are so readily available for my consumption.

Believe it or not, I’m actually way better about foods I don’t like than I used to be. Before, I’d refuse to finish a dish if I found an ingredient I didn’t like, but now I’m very skilled at working around them.

I’ve also ventured out and tried new cuisines.

I guess life is about finding the balance between trying new things and knowing one’s own limitations. That’s part of the fun.

Oh, and I apologize if I made anyone’s favorite food sound gross.