I was a finicky child, which might be surprising to anyone who knows the strapping adult I’ve become, or seen the way I now eat. My parents tried many approaches, ranging from nonchalance to “just one bite” to “you will CLEAN your plate.” The latter rule was in effect when it was decreed on the day after Thanksgiving that I would not be allowed to skip the sweet potatoes again.
On an impulse, I mixed them with my white rice, soaked in turkey gravy. This did not improve either dish. I sat at the round wooden table in my family’s dining room — we had a Lazy Susan, which I thought quite wondrous — choking down mouthfuls, tears running down my cheeks until someone finally took pity on me and let me leave the table.
I eat almost everything now. (Kimchee is one exception, and I’m not crazy about the texture of octopus.) I eat sushi and organ meats and spinach in almost every form. I have a well-developed tolerance for spicy food, to the point where an absentminded spoonful of wasabi really didn’t bother me that much. I eat sweet potato chips. But I never, ever eat sweet potatoes.
Feel free to share bountiful helpings of leftovers and force feedings. Happy Thanksgiving!
I used to eat only the marshmallows and brown sugar off the tops of the sweet potatoes. This year, however, the recipe has been upgraded–the sweet potatoes are buried, appearing only in a delicious cheesecake pictured in Nov.’s Sunset magazine, with a big honkin’ dollop of whipped cream on top. Yummmm…..
My mum always used the “if you don’t finish it, you’ll have to have it warmed up for your breakfast” line. And then lunch. And dinner the next day. And so on until the food was gone. Or so the threat went, at least.
She only actually followed through with it once, with some mashed potato I left. She tried giving it to me cold the next morning, presumably to teach me a lesson. I didn’t touch it (unsurprisingly) and she never tried it again.
I don’t even know why she bothered. Me and my siblings all ate so much so fast that it seems a little pointless.
Oh that reminds me of going to anyone’s house for dinner with my dad which was always a holiday. Our usual dinners with him were pizza, he being a weekend dad. I remember yams (are they the same as sweet potatoes?) I don’t know who got the bright idea to make them sweeter but they used to gross me out. They still do when made sweeter with marshmellows and whatever else they put in them, but I actually like regular sweet potatoes. My dad would always make us eat whatever was put on our plate so I can relate to your “choking mouthfuls.
I think more kids than we ever will know were traumatized by being forced to eat “what’s good for them”. More often than not, I SWEAR, it turns out there’s a reason a kid won’t eat something. My mother was forced to drink milk every day as a kid? She’s seriously lactose intolerant. I think she always WAS and her body was smart enough to know it. I think forcing a kid to eat is revolting. I know there are serious issues about obedience and respect and nutrition, yes, but given that this country seesaws between eating disorders and obesity, you think maybe there’s a message there?
but more to the point, it seems to be just a simple “do what I tell you” control issue. You TELL your kid to eat those damned potatoes and she is to obey. I get saying “would you try it?” but there _has_ to be a way to introduce the idea better. I don’t know how my mother did it. Perhaps _because_ she remembered choking things down, didn’t, as I recall ever do that to us. As a result, I liked things that no kid ever was supposed to like. Like vegetables. I like almost all of them, even the ones we’re supposed to hate (esp as kids) like spinach and lima beans. Partly, thanks to the generation I’m in, they were frozen rather than canned. I can’t imagine surviving canned spinach and liking it. But then, I remember frozen zucchini – a bad idea. Took a while for me to like zucchini, but figured it out. Fresh and small and not overcooked, if at all.
I like squash pie (like pumpkin but a bit different); I like cheese on my apple pie (but cheddar now, not American). I like lemon juice on my veggies, esp. spinach, and don’t get buttering spinach. All my mom’s influence.
And putting marshmallows on food. YUCH, ptui! That is SO gross; that’s like from the planet Kraft or something to me. All those ads growing up featuring recipes with marshmallows and/or velveeta (in our house, the joke is that one must use both. Preferably melted.) Marshmallows are NOT food. They’re sugar; and I don’t get sugaring vegetables.
My mother was a very good cook. She does not think she was and hated it; you never saw anyone as happy as mom when I, the younger daughter, went to college. No MORE having to prepare meals 7 days a week. She wasn’t fancy, she didn’t get real experimental, but I STILL use many of her recipes. I do admit though to learning about strong tastes only after going off to college and such. Real herbs – not the ones in the glass jars that have been there since the stone age. And hot/spicy stuff. Oh yeah. Trying to convince mom that running out of the bell’s seasoning” she had had since I was 2 was probably all for the best and that the stuffing would survive.
My worst thanksgiving horror is when I see those recipes for creamed onions. I remember frozen veggies that had what I thought were putrid awful little “pearl onions” and cannot imagine where they’re improved by putting them in cream. It’s almost like sugaring them, or hey, putting marshmallows on ‘em (perhaps with some flaming velveeta?)
Kimchi is a delicious side dish for Korean beef dishes –but not for Thanksgiving!
I make it at home and I am willing to share the recipe with you non-believers.
We will be having sweet potato casserole- mashed sugared sweet potatoes with marshmallows on top. I will eat a plain sweet potato. My mom- now 87- cannot cook for 6 people- she cooks for 20. So this year, we are cooking at her house- we planned a simple menu- but my mom insisted so far on making soup and the casserole(which will not be in an 8×8 or a 9×13 but in an 11x 14 pan). We have talked her(I hope) out of the chopped liver(with gribnes), the spinach kugel, the sweet potato patties(rolled in cornflake crumbs with half a candied cherry on top) and the well cooked frozen vegetables.
My mom is a wonderful baker- no mixes ever, until last year made her own gefilte fish(no cuisinart- a wooden bowl and a hocker- hand chopper), made the best brisket, chicken, meatloaf, spaghetti sauce and meatballs but would use canned veggies and cook them even limper than they came out of the can. Also salad was always a hunk of iceberg lettuce with a slice of tomato and that dressing made from mayo and catsup.
But we never had to clean our plates and I don’t remember having to try anything. My own kids always have to eat some vegs- if we are eating at home. They don’t mind- as long as they don’t have to eat brussel sprouts- which means more for me!
I’m with all the rest of the folks who don’t like their sweet potatoes sweetened. I never thought I liked sweet potatoes until I tried one with just butter – no marshmallows etc. Now they are among my favorite foods.
“Also salad was always a hunk of iceberg lettuce with a slice of tomato and that dressing made from mayo and catsup. “
That dish as returned to popularity and is called “the wedge.”
I remember making hot dogs for my son for Thanksgiving as he was such a fussy eater, hot dogs were the only meat we could get him to eat! It still amazes me that today, he is getting ready to attend culinary school and eats things I wouldn’t ever believe would pass through his lips.
I can’t handle Kimchee either. And I would never, ever consider eating octopus! But I did. Just didn’t know it. I was at a kaimaina luau while living on Kaua’i, and the dish-prepared by a chef my son knew- was called ‘taco’. Tender small pieces sauted in butter and garlic and it was incredible. Naturally, they didn’t tell me what it was until after I’d asked for more. And yes, this was at a Thanksgiving party. No turkey for those brah-we had pit roasted pig, laula, poi…macaroni sald…and taco.
Oh, and Lilikoi pie with acres of whipped cream.
I was a picky child and I’ve grown into a picky adult. The list of foods I won’t eat is long and it includes octopus, kimchee, and sweet potatoes. I still don’t care for them, candied or not.
When I was young, my parents and grandparents tried all the usual tactics — threat of violence, having to eat it again tomorrow, loss of future Christmas and birthday gifts, trying to convince me it was candy (when covered with brown sugar and marshmallow or whatever). Nothing worked.
One night, Mom once told me I had to sit at the table until I tried some soup she’d made. Well, my bedtime came and went. I was still sitting there, the bowl of soup cold and untouched. She sent me to bed. She wasn’t happy with me.
I eat more things now than when I was younger. My nine year old son is picky, too. Pickier than I was at his age. My wife blames me, because I’m so limited, but he won’t eat something just because I do.
Linda – I know someone else who shares your outlook and for whom eating is at BEST somehting you do and at worst, a chore and a hassle. I think he went through similar crap growing up that you did.
I don’t know if I’m “fascinated” with food but it does provide, for some of us an outlet for creativity and a social thing to enjoy. feeding people is fun for me – it’s a sort of “taking care” activity.
I always describe my grandmother – my mother’s mother – who was an awful woman as belieiving “if one is good, 5 is better. This related to everything – from overindulgence in sweets to pills. She never apparently beleived that food was cooked enough, so that very early on, whether it was Passover or Thanksgiving, my mother would take over and cook the holiday meal. In self-defense.
But you see, David, yams DON’T need marshmallows to make them edible that’s the whole awful tihng. Whoever decided to mix those two things well, NO ONE can explain why but I’ll bet they’re southern. I would never try to convince you that they’re worth eating but I do like them. It’s sort of like some other “combinations” that make no sense but “it’s tradition”. I love bacon – I would NEVER eat liver with it. Maybe that’s another one – so bad you have to cover it in bacon to make it edible?
As for “how can anyone not like X”- my best friend in college hated chocolate and coffee. I think mushrooms are disgusting and can’t swallow tofu. There’s NO universal. None. Zip.
You poor folks with parents who tried to con you all into eating ANYthing by claiming “it’s candy”. Shudder. Of course I can’t manage anything “cherry flavored” today because of all the cough syrup or whatever that they used that icky stuff on.
But I like real cherries. And I really like kimchee.
Oh, now, this brings up very bad memories. Mealtimes in my household when I was a child were horrible. I was the fourth of five and the family scapegoat. Food is associated with unpleasant “family time”. I would quickly lose my appetite, my parents (both of the depression) would cajole, promise, threaten and try to force food down me. Thankfully, I learned the usefulness of the family dog and would slip her my peas and brussel sprouts…to this day, brussel sprouts make me gag.
Thus, I’ve never understood the fascination with food. You guys can go on and on about it…to me, it’s fuel and not much else. Unless we’re talking about chocolate, of course.
How can anyone NOT like sweet potatoes? Try Sip N Bite’s version (available on Sun’s only). Yummy
El Syd
(This is June and not Syd).) Laura, you must never have tried sweet potato pie. That is good eating—similar in texture to pumpkin. The best way to experience sweet potato is just baked. The taste is great and is packed with nutrients.
As kids, most of my generation were served meat cooked to shoe leather, canned vegetables cooked even more, and that ubiquitous wedge of iceberg lettuce with orange-colored dressing (bottled French). Discovering pinkish meat, fresh vegetables lightly cooked or raw,and fresh herbs was enlightenment.
Also, except for the cuisine of one’s parents, there weren’t many others to experience. Basic Italian, French, Greek, and Cantonese Chinese were about all to be found except probably Tex-Mex in that part of the country. The immigration from so many countries over the last few years has greatly enriched the USA palate.
I want Laura’s share of the sweet potatoes. I adored them, and thought they must be very expensive or difficult because we only had them on special occasions until my mother, a woman of little food imagination, realized we all liked them and they were easy. Later, living alone, I found they microwave beautifully and ate them constantly (with butter). Years ago my sister decided to enter the Pillsbury Bake-Off. She analyzed past winners in her chosen category (something like quick-and-easy party food) and discovered canned yams hadn’t featured in any, so got to experimenting, using her coworkers as testers. The result, Curried Yam Tarts, are rather good, but didn’t convince Pillsbury of their merit. Probably because they lack cream cheese, the secret ingredient of every winner. The next year she came up with a yam muffin recipe that was also tasty, but without cream cheese she was still doomed.
My mother’s cooking was confined to whatever could be cobbled together with soup mixes and mayonnaise.
But my sweet potato was church. When I was a child I swore to the Higher Power that once I was grown, I would never spend another minute in a pew and aside from weddings, funerals, and a scattering of Christmas Eves, I’ve kept that promise.
You can’t make me eat yams, either. Any vegetable that needs marshmallows to be edible is not something I care to have taking up valuable real estate on my Thanksgiving plate.
No forced feedings – thank God, although it did take me to my 30s to like sweet potatoes and I still don’t eat cranberry jelly – but I do have many happy memories of childhood Thanksgiving. Some involved food – including the first of the season Tastykake holiday cookies with red and green jimmies in the big round tub – and some didn’t, like the big cache of movie magazines like Photoplay and Modern Screen my Nana would have ready for me to peruse.
My fave food memory: Nana used to make special desserts for the kids’ table: Jello chocolate pudding – the kind you cooked, with the skin on top – and serve it with Cool Whip for me, and there was cherry Jello with orange slices for my little sister Chrissy. Then Chrissy would literally roll out of her chair into my Grandpop’s lounge chair and fall asleep with the vibrating feature of the chair purring away.
My mother had all kinds of theories about how to raise children. On eating: ‘Children will eat what they need.’ Seriously. If a kid wanted to eat nothing but mashed potatoes and butter for a week she figured there must be some kind of calcium deficiency at work. Eventually, the theory went, a kid will want a hamburger and, over time, it all evens out. Of course, as my mother didn’t cook, she had much less invested in getting us to eat the stuff compared to my friends’ mothers who cooked healthy meals and packed nutritious lunches every day.
It’s not that my mother couldn’t cook it just never seemed necessary. When my parents married, my mother only made two dishes: steak and fried chicken (go figure). They couldn’t afford steak and my father made better fried chicken. When my brother was born my grandfather’s gift to him was hiring cook for my mother. He thought it was the kindest thing he could do for the child. By the time we lost my grandfather, my parents could afford a cook and we were all better off for it.
I graduated from high school a very picky eater. A can of beef broth with Saltines crumbled into it to sop up the broth — washed down with a vintage Coca Cola of course–this was a favorite meal for me. Come to think of it broth & crackers is just a very bad version of stuffing, isn’t it. I don’t blame my mother for my poor eating habits. I grew up in the era of canned vegetables. In the winter the only fresh vegetables in the grocery store were onions and potatoes.
In any case, I’m a relatively healthy eater now. Peer pressure in college brought all sorts of newcomers onto my teeny tiny food pallet beginning freshman week when all the girls on our floor were herded over to the President’s house for an afternoon sherry and cheese do. I was mortified. At a sherry and cheese party, one really does have to take in some cheese. And I loathed cheese. My friend Sandy’s father once tried to convince me to put Parmesan cheese (in the green can) on my spaghetti with meat sauce (red.) I politely declined. My mother had taught me the polite way to refuse food. Good manners were her strength. ‘Thank you but I really don’t care for cheese.’ My friend’s father was insistent, ‘Go ahead and try it–you can’t even taste the cheese.’ My reply was, of course, ‘If I can’t taste it then I’ll just skip it. Thanks anyway.’ He finally gave up.
To return to the sherry party, imagine my surprise on discovering that the cheese they were serving wasn’t Velveeta and it wasn’t even a dried out wedge of that godawful orange wheel o’cheese my Dad loved. In fact it wasn’t even one cheese. It was many wonderful different kinds of cheeses. Who knew? brie! muenster! and provolone! Later in college my friends also taught me that asparagus doesn’t grow in cans and broccoli is actually good as long as it’s served while its chlorophyl is still at least partially in evidence. (They never canned broccoli, did they?)
These helpful life lessons from my academic career prepared me well for spending a year in a daub and wattle house in rural Liberia eating rice with ‘soup’ whose seasoning consisted of chicken broth cubes and peppers hot enough to melt the paint off your car. My mother’s rearing also served me well while I was there. ‘Thank you, I don’t care for pigs feet.’
[Laura, thanks for the prompt. I'm sending this to my sister as my Thanksgiving day missive. Hope you have a happy sweet-potatoless day.]
If there’s no pile of candied sweet potatoes touching my macaroni and cheese, the day is a little gloomier.
My oldest friend and I just agreed on a new holiday tradition of steak tartare and martinis at Grand Central Station, so my gustatory perspective may be slightly off-axis from mainstream Americana.
I hate cooked Spinach .. with a passion. I hated it when I was a kid, or maybe I hate the way my Mother cooks it, she used to make me eat it, and I would cry and cry. Once I walked into the house and could smell it, and barfed all over the place. No one has ever made me eat it since
What if Christmas could be more about the meal than the gifts? Everyone could buy themselves something new and show the family and friends at dinner. No more putting on a “thank you I LOVE it face” then trying to figure out when/how to get rid of it. Do I sound crabby?