My blog buddy, Zoe, is a food nazi. She has more rules than you could ever keep track of in your head concerning food, like it mustn’t touch other foods on the plate. I would probably be over stressed if I had to feed a person like her, although I would do it, because I love her. But I’d still make fun of her.
I determined early on with Ass Burger Boy that some foods, like sugar, are actually drugs in disguise. It really wasn’t easy doing research in a small town library (before the internet) when he was little, but my own observations underlined any information I gleaned about the Feingold diet. I noticed when he was very young that ketchup would make his ears turn red, and his behaviour got really out of whack. Or it was whack. Whatev.
People often wondered how I managed to raise him single-handedly with his different abilities, and really, he was a total treat. With a healthy, non-processed, no sugar diet, he was so happy and adorable that I was truly blessed. And eat? Boy, did that chile love him some grub! Anything I made him, he would chow down on with satisfied, happy noises.
How adorable was he? He’s not eating there, but he looks like he’s reaching for food. Work with me, people.
He had his first soda pop when he was nine, and promptly threw it up. And no, it wasn’t me who gave it to him, although I recognized that as he got older, his body was better able to process food-drugs. My attitude was why mess with success?
His only real food quirk is that he cannot bear to waste it. So the only clue I got that he preferred not to eat some foods is that they would languish in the fridge.
Now that he is almost twenty-five years old, I finally learn that tomatoes and spinach are not his faves. Two foods that I always have in abundance. Heh. You coulda said something, son. I don’t go on strike because you don’t like something.
Pizza and wine with Warrior Woman are not on the agenda for the foreseeable future. She has determined that she is allergy testing herself for gluten and alcohol. And potatoes. Yes, I still have some of the fifty pound bag of potatoes left. We’ve had them baked, mashed, roasted, scalloped, everything but deep-fried. But I figure I can make a meal that she can eat without all her no-nos.
And the pizza? All the more for ABB. He likes my pizza just fine.