My college roommate liked food only in order to stay alive. He'd pick at his plate and was rarely a member of the Clean Plate Club.
My cousin Barbara could read food. She had an educated palate. Put a dish of caramelized salmon in front of her, and she could tell you about every ingredient.
Then there was me. In the 6th grade I was often rejected by a sweetheart or told I wasn't good enough to play even for the B Team in football. Yet every morning I met with glee Tony the Tiger or Snap, Crackle, and Pop -- my AM cereal. I knew Tony and the boys would NEVER reject me. Hence, I loved them and ergo I loved food -- in my own peculiar 6th grade way.
