Bite by Bite: From Picky Eater to Passionate Chef.

Growing up, I was an exhaustingly picky eater.

My diet largely consisted of plain noodles, bread, rice, lean meats, and most things sugary and sweet. I shied away from vegetables, aromats, herbs, salads, and just generally anything green. Vegetables were always the worst part of the meal and were to be passionately avoided if possible. If not possible, the vegetables or offending items were to be eaten immediately to allow for a more pure and blissful enjoyment of the remaining, now thankfully vegetable-free meal.

Any meal where the ingredients were not immediately identifiable equally became a source of worry. Little bits of herbs in my broth? Illegal, take it away. Little vegetable chunks in the sauce? Ghastly. A side salad on my plate of plain chips and nuggets? Ain’t no way any of the chips touching the salad would get eaten. In a dream world, I would have just sent the entire plate back – like a spoilt little brat – and requested a new plate, ideally prepared in a salad-free kitchen.

Overall, I seemed to possess a genuine fear of experiencing an unpleasant taste which further discouraged me from trying anything new. The potential danger of a new food being deemed nasty and indigestible overrode the possibility of it being not only palatable but perhaps even becoming a new favourite and expanding my very limited repertoire of food preferences.

I dreaded eating in restaurants or at other people’s houses because I would inevitably be served something which I would not even dare touch, let alone eat. I was aware enough of the impoliteness of refusing a meal that had been offered to me, but this social pressure was not enough to convince me to try and eat whatever I had on the plate before me. It is no surprise then, that eating was often a source of stress and worry for me growing up, as each outing held the impending threat of an insurmountable challenge: a plate of unfamiliar and (what I would consider) unpalatable food.

To my luck at the time, my family was fairly accommodating of my aggressively limiting dietary requirements. Since I hated small bits of vegetables in my food, aromats were cooked whole (or at most halved) to be fished out before serving. Sauces were served on the side so I could keep my food as plain and dry as I pleased. Some foods and dishes I disliked so much that I could not even stand the smell of them. Those were avoided altogether. Extended family members were briefed on my so-called intolerances and advised on the meals to cook when I was visiting. Finding a meal I enjoyed and ate without complaint or anxiety was an occasion for relieved celebration.

I sometimes shake my head in guilty conscience when I think of all the culinary limitations my family was subjected to. They sacrificed many a flavour and culinary enjoyment for the sake of my comfort.

This is where cooking came in.

I particularly remember a pivotal moment when I was watching a cooking programme and I saw the host – indeed no other than Jamie Oliver – get wildly excited about ingredients, the cooking process, and the final meal which he lovingly plated at the end. It seemed extraordinary to me that someone could have such enthusiasm for food, something which was more often a source of worry and dread to me. Seeing the meals first broken down into individual ingredients made it more approachable too. Previously, a new dish was a foreign matter comprised of a collection of unidentifiable and potentially nasty ingredients whose sole purpose was to surprise and disgust me. Now I saw that by cooking something myself, I could deconstruct the unknown; I could just take a few simple ingredients I liked, combine them and safely enjoy the final product, free of any offensive ingredients and scary side salads.

So it came that cooking empowered me and my eating habits.

Everything I made, I ate.

Cooking tickled my curiosity, and I started to try new things, new ingredients, and new recipes. Understanding the ingredients going into the dish and the techniques and processes involved took away some of the fear of the food. Where I previously disliked finding small bits of onions and garlic in a dish because they seemed to contribute nothing but unnecessary texture to an otherwise pleasantly tasty sauce, I now realised that it was their presence, being carefully chopped and sweated out in oil when starting the base, which created the delicious depths of flavour.

Suddenly a whole world of tastes and cuisines opened up to me, and the endlessness of possibilities excited me. I started to religiously watch cooking shows and videos, read recipe books, and learn new dishes every week. I started to cook for my family on weekends and even cook Christmas dinners. My culinary knowledge shot through the roof. It was as though I was trying to catch up on the years of eating plain, repetitive meals.

This culinary awakening was less than ten years ago. Little would I have thought then that future me would end up making a living with food and cooking. That something which at the time could perhaps best be described as a phobia would later become a passion so profound that it would fundamentally shape my life and profession. Perhaps, if I hadn’t spent years eating plain foods, I would never have developed such a strong interest in different cuisines later in life. I therefore thank the experiences and struggles of that picky eater, and for her sake hope to continue my cooking and eating journey for as long as I can.