YOUR parents raised you not to be a picky eater, while adamantly refusing to even consider these everyday cuisines:
Sushi is no longer considered exotic. You can get it in a Boots meal deal, for f**k’s sake. But when you asked your dad if he fancies a California roll he stared at you as if you’d presented him with sliced seal dong. Your mum is convinced that if tuna isn’t seared it’ll give her worms.
It took the UK by storm in the 90s but, like grunge and Absolutely Fabulous, your parents never really got it and continue to regard it with the same suspicion they harbour men who wear make-up or women who don’t.
Your mum’s not averse to a ‘picky tea’ when the weather gets hot, but going to a restaurant to pay £9 for a small plate makes her blood boil. If Spanish food’s nice, why do all the bars there serve egg and chips? What good are prawns if they’re not in Marie Rose sauce?
There’s a limit to what your dad will tolerate on his precious toast – peanut butter was deemed a bridge too far. The vivid green of avocado is like eating an alien, and to his mind the only thing that should be smashed is plain, white potatoes with margarine.
Your parents have never trusted milk except in tea, but in the era of milk alternatives they’ve become the dairy industry’s greatest allies. ‘You can’t milk an almond,’ your dad opines, ‘because it hasn’t got tits.’ What even is a soy? Are they vicious vermin like veals?
Your parents love lettuce, cabbage, spinach and the like, especially boiled, but once they heard young people were into something called ‘kale’ they became dead set against it. It’s classed with skunk cannabis for them. You’ve never dared offer it. You hate it, to be honest, but you to defend it to the hilt just to spite them.