Veggies Tales: my life as a picky eater

As a 5-year-old sitting on a neon-colored mat of the United States in room M3 at Challenger School—Berryessa, I waited patiently my leg in “criss cross applesauce” and my hands folded in “snowball hands.” Chatter filled the air as my classmates made their way to the rug, their hands stained from the finger painting we had just finished.

My Kindergarten teacher, Mr. Josh, came around to give each of us a napkin, followed by Animal crackers and a cup of grape juice. I remember the boys around me devouring the crackers within a minute’s time, while the girls admired the animal-shaped crackers and then continued to eat them daintily. I, on the other hand, pushed my snack away and continued to giggle with my friends.

Thirteen years later, as a senior en route to college, I’m happy to say that nothing has changed. Well, except crackers and grape juice have now turned into pesto paninis and PMT.

To say I’m a picky eater is an understatement. Now don’t get me wrong: I absolutely love food. No carb-diets, salads, juice cleanses — all are concepts I hate. My Pinterest board, unlike that of many other girls my age, is not filled with outfit ideas, but rather with recipe ideas for and pictures of food. If you find my fangirling in the corner of the room, rather than the release of a new album or a movie, it’s probably over a picture of homemade ratatouille. My love for food has proven, however, to be extremely exclusive.  

My picky eating habits started as early as the first couple of  months of my life. I was told that as an 8-month old baby, I refused to eat everything but Carrot Baby Gerber Food (which resulted in me turning a hue of orange, but that’s a story for another time). As the years went by, my parents struggled to find foods that I liked to eat.  

By my kindergarten years, my parents had figured out a food item that I would finish: a glazed Krispy Kreme donut. And thus, my breakfast for my entire kindergarten year was a Krispy Kreme donut — healthy, I know.

By the time I reached third grade, I decided that the best way to escape my parents’ obsession with my eating habits would be to lie. So each day of third grade, as my mom packed me grilled cheese sandwiches, pasta or Lunchables, I’d readily take them to school only to throw them away during lunch. Coming home, I would tell her how I ate my lunch completely.

Even now, my mom and I argue plenty about food options. Going off almost every day, however, I have the ability to eat out at the food places I like such as La Cueva and Rojoz’s. Yet, I know that once I’m off to college, I won’t have the luxury of eating out.

Fearful of dorm food, I am trying for the next couple of months to solve my life-long pickiness with food. I will try my hardest to stay away from eating Saratoga Bagels for lunch rather than the sandwich I have brought from home. And if that plan fails, a veggie bowl with extra corn salsa is healthier than a Krispy Kreme donut, right?