Photo: At the French Market.
As a child I was a picky eater. I could count the things I liked to eat on two hands. White bread, peanut butter but not crunchy, hamburgers plain, hot dogs with ketchup, raw carrots, milk, plain rice, my Mother's fried chicken, spaghetti, most dessert but not zucchini bread… okay maybe a few more things, but nothing more exotic than bologna with cheddar cheese and jelly.
I was a skinny child. My Uncle Jules use to tease me saying, "Corey if it is windy outside be careful because one day you are going to be blown away!" I took his words to heart, I was terrified of the wind.
My parents did what most parents do to try to convince their children to eat, nothing worked. I went to bed without dessert many nights and often found my dinner plate with its leftovers in front of me at breakfast. Still, I was a picky eater, or stubborn as my Mother would say.
During Lent, my family gave up everything. My Mom gave up sweets, she didn't make any desserts during that time, subsequently, we gave up dessert with her. My Dad gave up TV, therefore none of us watched TV. We went to daily mass which fed my soul. It was hard to find something else to give up. When I was eighteen I decided to give up meat. I knew I would starve, I knew it would be hard, I knew that it would be the best sacrifice I could offer. Meat was my staple, I ate it twice a day.
Photo: Purple artichokes from the French market.
Photo: Table for two at a cafe by the market place in Nice.
After forty days of Lent vegetables took the throne on my plate. We became friends so did cheese pizza. My new diet opened my eyes to a new world. Not that broccoli or cauliflower became instant golden taste delights, but the roots of vegetarianism gave way to new growth. I haven't had meat since.
Photo: A golden delicious on an eighteen century boutis.
Books that lead the way:
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