Thanks. 
I very clearly remember my twin brother sitting at the table next to me in the school cafeteria, weeping over his egg pie as a dinner lady swatted him repeatedly about the head for him refusing to take a bite. He is allergic to eggs and knew how sick he’d be if he did but he was only five and too scared to do anything but sit with his head down and cry as she hit him. I remember sitting watching but as we had only just started school, I thought that’s what school was and I didn’t even tell my mother later on. I felt dreadful and sick myself but had no idea that I could do anything about it.
My elder son has been browbeaten by mothers at playdates for politely asking if he could read the ingredients first (he has a walnut allergy and we taught him to take responsibility for himself by checking for himself before eating.) Sigh.
Then we get to my 13 year old who is picky to the point of madness over food. I have to say that since this spring I have given up arguing. He knows the reasons why his diet is not good enough. He suffers the fallout with weakness, underweight, bad skin etc and there is NOTHING I can do about it. I serve dinner and he eats or doesn’t. I am learning to keep my mouth shut. Because we can either ruin every mealtime with a fight but he won’t actually eat, or we can all sit companionably and enjoy each other’s company and he won’t eat. But that’s pretty much it.
I didn’t vomit on the table. I made it to the kitchen sink. And I know the thread is about adults, but I was a child visiting the house of a friend whose mother was one of those you-aren’t-excused-from-the-table-until-you’ve-cleaned-your-plate types. Even if there were tomatoes on the plate.
Result? Forty years later, I grow lovely tomatoes that others praise and that I can’t eat. Phyllis N, may you rot in your grave. I’ve successfully restored spinach to my diet and am making good progress with cauliflower, but I will never enjoy a fresh raw tomato, thanks to you.
See post #51
Moderator warning
You know better than to level this kind of blatant insult, BigT. Disagree with them all you want, don’t call them “fucking stupid.”
This is actually part of why I get so ticked. It’s not just the fundamental rudeness (“No means no” is not just for gender politics), it’s the assumption I’m picky or fussy.
I grew up in rural KY - I was brought up eating bugs, rodents and entrails with colorful names. Tons of stuff I’ve eaten would send my host or hostess running to beat their gag reflex to the bathroom, so when I say “No, thank you” I’m hardly being fussy; instead, maybe the other diners should ask themselves why a guy on his 2nd helping of pig intestines is passing on the strawberry tarts.
Regardless, the golden rule applies: you respect my choices, I’ll respect yours and just like Rodney King wanted, we’ll all get along.
Here’s your fourth (I believe) anecdote. Somewhere around the age of four, I was in daycare. The menu for the day was bierocks–a food I love and seek out to this day. But something was off that day. The beirock smelled off, sour, and not right. I took a bite of it and put it down, certain that anymore would make me sick.
The staff cajoled, begged, and threatened me–no recess if I would not eat. The thought of losing recess is terrifying to a four/five year old, but the thing in front of me was vile. I held out until every other kid was on the playground, and then I capitulated. “One more bite?” “Okay.”
I puked all of it out. Then got sent to sit on the stairs for the entirety of recess, close enough to hear my friends having fun, but denied.
I vaguely recall one of the staff members coming to talk to me–in the dominant, show caring, but enforce-your-authority position. I clearly remember her implying that I had voluntarily vomited to make a point, and that my punishment was deserved. To make things worse, my dad was on the board of directors for the daycare (church-affiliated and what-not), and the staff was falling all over themselves to justify what they had done.
Imagine getting sick from food served to you, and then being scolded by almost every adult in your life. Fortunately, dad didn’t scold me, and I think he knew more was going on than what was said,
For years–no, decades–after that experience I couldn’t abide biscuits. Not the taste of them, not the smell of them, not the sight of them. And I’d never eaten a biscuit in my life, The smell of them baking would make me retch. Sometime about five years ago I tried biscuits, and discovered that I could stand them–and maybe even like them.
I put two and two together, divided by three, and took the integer to the fourth power, finally realizing that I’d been served a bad bierock made with soured buttermilk.
Then I was freed to enjoy the ineffable delights of biscuits and gravy. But I can’t help but look askance at anything made with buttermilk…
I was 17 or so and mom had offered peas with dinner. I don’t like peas and don’t eat them. Never have. Not since I was capable of turning my head away from the spoon filled with mashed up gerber peas. I don’t eat them and Mom should have known this. But for some reason, this time she was insistant I eat them.
So I left the table, went to my desk, got out an envelope, wrote “To the Starving Children in Europe” on it, returned to the table, spooned the offensive peas into the envelope, sealed it, alapped it down on the table, and said “Here, Mom, you can mail it to 'em!”.
Okay, it could have gone either way. I lucked out, Mom was laughing for 7 minutes. And she never offered me peas again.
Sorry. I thought I was in the Pit. I had the Pit open at the same time, and the OP is more a rant than a poll. And the post I was responding to seemed more like a Pit post than an IMHO one, due to the person doing exactly what the OP asked them not to.
Thanks for only giving me one Warning when I could have had more. I’m glad I didn’t go with my first instincts and use even worse language.
Same thing goes for saying that someone didn’t have any friends–that was Pit hyperbole. But I still say cussing someone out is not a good tactic for keeping friends. They don’t realize they are being assholes, so they’ll think you’re the asshole. That much anger is best reserved for situation where you wouldn’t mind if the friendship ended.
And, yes, I speak from experience, both my own and watching it happen to friends. YMMV.
Sweet potato pie convinced me sweet potatoes might be worth a second look. I fought The Battle of the Liver & Onions to a standstill but Grandma’s fried chicken livers made me rethink organ meats. Slimy okra & tomatoes made me draw a line in the sand–until I had Grandma’s fried okra. Those mind-changing dishes were usually served in a “we grownups are having this–take a bite if you want” setting. No drama…
If there’s a minor under your care who suffers from malnutrition, you need to find some way to get them nourishment. But, where grownups are concerned, food should be offered–and taken or not with no excuses needed.
Perhaps it’s because I’ve outlived my elders, but I haven’t encountered the sort of cajoling described here in many years. That’s just rude. On the other hand, I have a co-worker who can’t look at a menu without detailing her objections to nearly every dish. She doesn’t have religious or ethical objections, nor real food sensitivities–she just wants us all to know she’s a delicate flower. Really, find one thing you like & shut up!
(But, seriously, they *are *doing some amazing things with brussels sprouts nowadays.)
Sorry, I only did it in the car (but since I was the Person In Charge Of Barfing Bags, with no ill consequences) and all over the stairs and several times into the nearest toilet.
I dread going out for lunch or dinner with people I don’t know because of how many times there is someone who tells me I “have to drink” alcohol. The last one caught me tired and I blurted “so, how do you know I didn’t have hepatitis as a kid, had a liver transplant or have alcoholic relatives? I have to drink? Seriously? I’ve been hearing ‘oh but you have to drink’ for thirty years, do you think you nags could cut it out?” (I’m 45, realized red wine made my head hurt before I was in double digits, haven’t drunk alcohol except to taste local specialties for about 30 years)
OK, so when are we getting that “like” button?
Someone that doesn’t respect me is not my friend, so there’s nothing to lose there. You’re basically saying some rude, passive-aggressive host won’t have me back again - which is fine by me. As you say, ymmv.
Ma’am, that’s on me. If I’m hungry enough, I can choke down a raw rat.
But there are a lot of foods I don’t care to eat- anything with chunks of onion makes me cringe.
If you have offered food and I’ve declined it- let it be.
Maybe ask, ONCE, if there’s something else I would like. ONCE, don’t force it.
People fussing over my weird eating habits makes me not want to eat with them.
I don’t tell you what to eat. Or how much of it.
Unless the game on your table was run down by cheetahs, no. Humans don’t run their prey to death, we are ambush hunters. Generally the duck, deer, or turkey that wind up on the table were shot from a blind or a tree stand. With any luck and/or skill, the wild creatures were peaceably going about their business before a sudden end they never saw coming. Pretty much the opposite of the conditions in a stock yard. Wild killed meat is generally leaner and grass fed animals taste wildly different from grain fed cows and chickens because they are consuming a varied and healthy diet. The “gamey” taste you are trying to ascribe to game meat is the taste of the natural diet the animal evolved to consume and digest.
What you get at the grocery and the drive-thru is the result of a fatty, sugary diet of grains and corn/cane syrup, meat pumped full of steroids designed to fatten and double the animal’s growth as quickly as possible and post-butcher seasoning and broth designed to enhance the color and disguise any off flavors caused by the farming and slaughter process. Google feedlot or industry raised poultry: I dare you. The reason our livestock are chock full of hormones and antibiotics is to counteract the ungodly levels of stress due to their crowded conditions and unnatural diet. Inhumane conditions don’t begin to describe the stress and horrors of big industry meat, and that’s what you are tasting: the result of a sugary, fatty, unnatural diet and a life filled with overcrowding, stress, and a constant round of vaccinations and steroids. You think that wild game tastes as though it was pumped full of adrenaline for a few seconds before it expired? Imagine what meat which has been stressed from the moment of it’s birth until it’s often inhumane death. Well, you don’t have to imagine it, because that’s what you smugly eat every single day while patting yourself on the back that you are a kinder person than the hunter. What tastes so good and feels morally superior to you are convenience and profit at the expense of the animal’s well-being and your own health.
Don’t like the taste or idea of something? Own it. Don’t spread falsehoods and wild ass guesses in order to justify your reluctance to eat something. I don’t like meat at all so you know what I do when someone is a little to persuasive? I say no thank you, I don’t make baseless claims to justify my personal prejudices and hang-ups.
^ And this sort of attitude is why I try to avoid dinner parties.
Now, if that’s the way you were raised and that’s your culture, fine, but it’s not mine please don’t force me into your world. As an added bonus, forcing the wrong foods on me can result in potentially life-threatening reactions, a call to 911, and a trip to the ER. It’s not fair to pressure me to eat things that may make me ill, or even merely disgust me.
Sometimes you’re just better off letting the guest have just the bread, apologizing that the meal was not to their liking, and doing something different next time.
I am especially annoyed when I tell someone “I have some strict dietary restrictions” and they INSIST on a run-down of the “problem”. It’s none of your business, actually. I’m informing you to keep disruption to your event at a minimum (believe me, a 911 call is not conducive to your social event), not as an opening to whine about my problems.
Of course, in an ideal world, the host would inquire about dietary restrictions beforehand, and let the guests know what is planned for the meal so as to avoid such situations.
Have you considered that your insistence on FAIR! IT MUST BE FAIR! NO, YOU CAN’T HAVE JUST BREAD OR JUST THE VEGETABLES! might make a guest MORE uncomfortable than simply not eating an entree? Sometimes you need to opt for the lesser evil.
I just shake my head at home irrational I’ve seen people become over food issues. I remember one incident at summer camp. At camp, fer gosh sakes! The counselor was enraged at me. Red in the face angry. She kept accusing me of eating like a barbarian. A couple times she knocked the silverware out of my hands and made me get new. I kept asking here what I was doing wrong, what did she want me to do? She just yelled louder, said I was obstinate and rude and knew damn well what I was doing wrong, I was just stubborn and deliberately pissing her off. I literally did not know what the problem was. And she wouldn’t answer me.
Finally, another counselor noticed what was up and intervened. Guess what the problem was:
I was eating with the utensils in the “wrong” hands. I was eating European style, with the fork in the left and the knife in the right and I was NOT putting the knife down and switching the fork to my right hand with each bite. Well, that’s how we ate at my house! I had never noticed that other people did it differently.
By the way - I was ten. At frackin’ camp. Where, you know, it’s sooooo frackin’ important that one eats as if at a state dinner. It was all worth preventing a hungry child from eating, and refusing to tell the kid what was wrong when the kid asked what was wrong because she just didn’t know what was being asked of her.
My diet is very limited and I have no interest in trying anything new. Most of the things people eat I find disgusting. I don’t like smelling it and I don’t even want to see it in a TV ad.
When someone offers me something I don’t want, I say no thank you. If they insist, I say no thank you more firmly. If they keep at it I tell them that I’m not going to put that foul smelling, disgusting thing in my mouth and to get it away from me before I throw it at them. Sometimes being rude is the only way to make someone understand that you mean it.
[QUOTE=monstro]
Who has ever fallen in love with someone that they’ve been pressured to eat?
[/QUOTE]
I’ve been thinking about this some more, and I keep coming up with examples from my own life. Like, I was pressured to try sushi and now I love it. I once encouraged a picky coworker to try the grits that someone had brought in, and she instantly fell in love with them (though she still insists she hates grits). Once, I fell in love with a casserole only to find that it had the dreaded squash vegetable in it. So sometimes “just try it” does change a palate. Maybe the people who say it are motivated by their own positive experiences (while not understanding that another person’s experiences can be as traumatic as theirs was positive).
No thank you.
Regards,
Shodan
[QUOTE=Broomstick;16425607 I remember one incident at summer camp. At camp, fer gosh sakes! The counselor was enraged at me. Red in the face angry. She kept accusing me of eating like a barbarian. A couple times she knocked the silverware out of my hands and made me get new. I kept asking here what I was doing wrong, what did she want me to do? She just yelled louder, said I was obstinate and rude and knew damn well what I was doing wrong, I was just stubborn and deliberately pissing her off. I literally did not know what the problem was. And she wouldn’t answer me.
Finally, another counselor noticed what was up and intervened. Guess what the problem was:
I was eating with the utensils in the “wrong” hands. I was eating European style, with the fork in the left and the knife in the right and I was NOT putting the knife down and switching the fork to my right hand with each bite. Well, that’s how we ate at my house! I had never noticed that other people did it differently.
By the way - I was ten. At frackin’ camp. Where, you know, it’s sooooo frackin’ important that one eats as if at a state dinner. It was all worth preventing a hungry child from eating, and refusing to tell the kid what was wrong when the kid asked what was wrong because she just didn’t know what was being asked of her.
[/QUOTE]
Is there a jury that would convict after the accident when she fell on the knife in your right hand 27 times?