When did I stop being a fussy eater? The answer may turnip soon

My wife fed Ollie at 12 on the dot today and though I was distracted by deep thoughts and typing feverishly (20 words per minute and I can prove it - slowly) the smell of leftover turkey and gravy hit me in the stomach.

As if by instinct the hunter-gatherer in me pushed away from the keyboard, walked to the kitchen and stuck its head inside the fridge.

I saw my supply of porridge but wanted something more exotic.

“Any leftover turkey in here?” I asked while poking my finger into cranberry sauce.

“You’ll have to heat more up,” my wife answered.


A few seconds passed, my thoughts shifted toward a veggie meal and my eyes settled on a bowl of turnip and a side of peas.

With a bit of salt, pepper and butter I could eat that, I thought.

Forty-nine years ago, had my mother suggested the same thing, I would have howled in derision or anguish. Then teased her until she reached for the fly-swatter.

Now, at age 59, I’ll eat just about anything slapped on a plate and shoved lovingly under my nose.

Who am I? How did I get here? Turnip and peas?

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Have you gone from fussy to easily-pleased?

Why is that? How does it happen?

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