For me, it’s eggs.
I would choke down mushrooms if I had to, or Brussel sprouts, or even cauliflower or American cheese. But I can honestly say if I were down to my last seventy pounds and you plopped down a Western omelet in front of me, I would curl up in a fetal position and wait for The Grim Reaper to come.
I don’t know what it is about eggs. It doesn’t matter if it’s quiche or even a custard. I can’t eat it. Even the smell of frying eggs makes me want to gag.