5 hours ago
2
I’ve always been a fussy eater. As a child, I ruined many family dinners because my overly particular palate meant I would simply refuse to eat a range of dishes. Certain ingredients would make me heave and throw tantrums. My brothers loved lasagne, but it rarely made the dinner table as I couldn’t stand cheese, and bechamel triggered a phobia of white sauces (mayonnaise is my No 1 hate). And don’t even think about making tuna sandwiches around me: the smell alone would make me burst into tears.
I often joke that being a fussy eater has made me feel more like a second-class citizen in this country than my blackness or my sexuality as a gay man. And I’m only being half unserious. Fussy eaters are often derided, belittled for only enjoying chicken tenders and fries, with questions about why we can’t just “grow up” and get over our aversion to certain foods.
The truth is my fussy eating does not mean that I am unadventurous. I am of Nigerian heritage after all, and I grew up eating and loving a range of dishes – abula, efo riro, bokoto – that would probably flip the stomachs of many Europeans on sight. What has caused me the most anguish are the most ordinary ingredients that others wouldn’t give a second thought to: nuts, which have invaded too many desserts, beans, peas, corn, cheese, oats, tuna, brown bread. I find the texture of a lot of these foods intolerable.
But I eventually grew tired of my own fussiness, of precluding myself from certain food experiences simply because one ingredient threw me off, and I would be too shy to ask for it to be taken off (I was once laughed at by a server for asking for a Mayo Chicken with no mayo at McDonald’s, and it traumatised me).
So, I resolved to do something small: every week, I decided to buy one thing that contains an ingredient I am averse to and I eat as much of it as I can stomach. It started when I ordered a focaccia sandwich with merguez sausages at my local brunch spot, just to find that it contained toum – the dreaded white sauce. But I willed myself to just try it, after Googling that it was made from an emulsion of garlic instead of eggs (I actually enjoy eggs, just not when they are perverted into a vile sauce). And it was delicious. I found myself licking the sauce off my fingers.
But there have been mixed results. I hated nuts in desserts but then discovered the syrupy joy of baklava. Oat flapjacks and Hobnob biscuits, however, were horrible. I tried a burrito with black beans and spat it out, but found the soya beans in a chilli oil I’ve started putting on rice delicious. I had a lovely pasta dish at Canteen in Notting Hill, west London, and found the grated parmesan aromatic and pleasant, but I couldn’t tolerate the feta in a salad I bought from Sainsbury’s.
I recently braved the evil mayonnaise, and heaved so violently that I thought I was dying – in my nightmares, I can still taste it. But, hey, at least, as a 28-year-old man, I can finally say that I’m trying. And while I won’t be attempting mayonnaise again, I’m pleased that I can now see these dislikes as a matter of taste, rather than something that inspires fear and panic as it did when I was a child. I can still be a bit pathetic and sulky about food, but there are no more tears.
