Not everything that looks like food is safe to eat, and not everything that is safe to eat looks like food.
PICKY EATERS The evolution of taste development
Humans, Inherently omnivorous and migratory, are apt to encounter a variety of unfamiliar foods throughout our lives.
These two conditions - to be omnivorous and migratory - are not by chance. Rather, we have evolution to thank.
For millennia, as we populated, or "peopled" the world, there was a greater likelihood that eating without complete certainty could cause us harm. And so proceeding with caution became a biological proclivity. Our survival actually relied on having an inherent skepticism around the food we ate. We developed inherent and automatic preferences toward certain food, hesitations for others, and appetites that no longer suit modern culinary habits and availability.
Chewing and swallowing too quickly, for example, might result in an adverse reaction that could have been avoided.
Modern society has learned to regulate our risk to such threats. We're able to discover allergies and intolerances, manipulate vitamin availability, and predict expiration dates long before the risk of harm reaches our plates, let alone our lips. Seemingly overnight, food went from an inaccessible, high-risk necessity to a a decidedly benign luxury. Creative occupations were born, and edacious consumers came to inflate the chef's ego.
But kids are still "picky eaters," they hold food in their cheeks before swallowing it, tap a bite with their tongue instead of eating the whole thing, or predict their preference based on a food's smell or appearance. They aren't actually being defiant or trying to hurt our feelings. They're simply following their innate biological directive to question the food's safety.
Perhaps, instead of reprimanding children for their actions and reactions, we ought to trust them and help them learn to navigate their culinary experience. By telling them when our feelings are hurt and trusting their dissatisfaction, we may in turn earn their trust when our judgement and directive is most vital.
The evolution and diversification of our guts and palates was directed by the foods available in our region of genetic origin. Yet, humans maintained a fantastic ability to consume a remarkably diverse array of plants, animals, and fungi. And we've since spread impressibly fast and far around the globe.
A quality unique to the animal kingdom, our remarkable dietary flexibility has made humanity's global migration, travel, and cultural exploration possible.
Heightened concerns for starvation and insufficient hydration existed long before the luxury of culinary culture and taste preferences. So our biology evolved to solve this dilemma:
much to my own chagrin, we evolved a partiality to eat when we're actually thirsty.
Many natural foods provide hydration (think fruits, vegetables, and raw meats), so filling up on water would have been prohibitive when nourishment and calories were also needed, but in short and unreliable supply.
But we weren't sure when our next meal- or source of water- would be, so we also learned to retain fat calories without the quandary of limitation. Fat, it turns out, does not trigger our full receptor.
TOUR to TABLE A world of opportunity Now, compared to those millennia ago, we are extraordinarily positioned to challenge our culinary preferences. Unique food has charmingly piloted our exposure to the world of cultural diversity since long before travel culture existed. Explorers (ahem, colonizers) introduced foreign spices that made the bland foods of Western and Northern Europe palatable. Pasta was introduced to the American tomato, Ireland readily adjusted to a diet of potatoes, and the UK decided to unofficially-officially adopt Indian cuisine as their own national flavor, to name just a few. Optimism is a privilige. Exposure to culturally diverse cuisines ought to foster openness to other forms of difference and a more holistic world perspective. In theory, this exposure would contribute to increased rates of emotional intelligence and hopefulness. "You are what you eat" At least that's what they say. On the contrary, urban American children, whose culinary experience is as local as their own ethnic background, also exhibit the lowest rates of emotional intelligence. Perhaps, then, exposure to culinary diversity isn't sufficient for developing cultural magnanimity. Empathy requires more than exposure to difference. It requires interaction with difference, proving and disproving assumptions, and respect for others' autonomy. No matter how different or unpleasing they, or their actions, are. ADULTS KNOW BEST food, feelings, and family dynamics Humans are biologically designed to set, recognize, and to some extent, respect hierarchy - within the family unit, broader society, and within ourselves. Most fundamental to this framework is an age-based order to knowledge and respect. The responsibilities for which are outlined in the fabric of emotional intelligence. In other words, knowledge isn't automatically accumulated over time, and respect must be earned and maintained. How does this relate to food and taste development? A few things to keep in mind:
Don't believe everything you think.
Knowledge is, by one definition, facts, information, and skills acquired through experience or education; the theoretical or practical understanding of a subject.
All people have opinions and feelings.
Feelings are not facts, but they are valid.
Children are people too.
When it comes to food and the notion that "adults know best," my mind becomes riddled by several factors. First and foremost, are we talking about "adults" as a global collective or per the individual? If the former, then yes, I'd support this claim. In this sense, adult knowledge would include research on health and social factors, collected around the globe and throughout all (reasonably recorded) space and time. Adult knowledge, in this sense, is most holistic, inclusive, and objective. Adult knowledge is best. The risk of accidentally eating something harmful has significantly diminished since our early nomadic, foraging days. Not only have many millennia of trial and error resulted in a collection of global knowledge that we're able to seamlessly share, but we have agricultural systems in place to ensure consistency and reliability in the food we eat. If we're talking about 'adults' as individuals over the childhood experience, then I would struggle to sit idly by. Likely subjective, personalized, and opinionated, the "knowledge" of an individual adult in an age-based hierarchical society is less likely to ascribe validity or consideration to a child's experience. To children, their taste preference is fact, supported by their knowledge, or their practical understanding of their experience. It is their truth, and therefore deserves our trust and respect, Their truth, however, does not require belief, reinforcement, nor contradiction on our part. Attention to a child's evolving taste is attention to their identity. Negative attention or excessively positive attention to their taste preferences is, therefore, negative attention or excessively positive attention to their evolving identity. Our ability to evolve is spectacular. Spectacular, by definition, means to be beautiful in a dramatic and eye-catching way. This is excessive attention, and it is unpleasing. Attention to a child's evolution is attention to their identity, and therefore unpleasing. But also, children believe individual adult perspectives to be synonymous with global adult knowledge. They also know their truth to be fact. And so, when adults contradict a child's personal internal experience, their trust in adult righteousness is questioned.and becomes confusing. FACTS AND BELIEFS "should" and the power of suggestion
An adult can tell a child that carrots are a healthy food, and that they should eat them. They cannot, however, convince the child to believe them or to like carrots. The choice to eat the carrots is still the child's, but to like them is out of either of their conscious control.
An adult can tell a child that their sibling is nice and they should play nicely with them. They cannot, however, convince the child to believe them, or even to like their sibling. The choice to play nicely is still the child's, but to like them is out of either of their conscious control.
We may all know from personal experiences with similar situations to these that, with time, we came to enjoy once-distasteful foods, and had fun with someone we were irritated by. And if we think about it, we'll remember that it wasn't the "should" statement that convinced us. Rather the fact of the matter - that carrots are healthy (and hopefully tasty) and our sibling is nice. Ultimately (perhaps years later), it is these facts - the global knowledge - that guides our experience.
Confessions of a Picky Eater A story of friendship I was called a "picky eater" as a kid, and still use the label when I talk about my own childhood palate. I simply haven't found a term to more appropriately satisfy the experience. i was picky and, at times, manipulated my culinary preferences to influence my social environment. When I hear "picky eater," I don't think of a permanent affliction, rather a present-moment fact. The truth is, I anticipated learning to like the foods I didn't as a kid. Whether it was the mushiness of mushrooms, the potency of mustard, or the saltiness of potato chips, there are some foods I'd never liked. For others; the bitterness of spinach or the sudden, seemingly inexplicable aversion to chocolate, I was sure would pass, as I'd liked them previously. Boldly stating that "I didn't like chocolate" was a personal identifier for three reasons:
It was unusual, and thus unique (unique grants some attention, some attention is desirable)
I believed it validated my appeal against other - healthy - foods.
It bonded me to my best friend who also (and arguably first) didn't like chocolate.
Valued in this order, the chronology of these motives likely occurred in reverse. I have no doubt that my distaste for chocolate stemmed from a friendly influence, followed by a recognition that such an aversion to a treat helped to justify other dinnertime preferences and aversions. This aversion lasted well beyond the relevance of the first two factors. My friend was no longer the best, and I had autonomy over my diet. Subtle though it was, the element of individualism felt significant. And I liked that, or I was used to it, or identified with it. Whatever the reason, this distaste continued into college.
I hadn't liked chocolate for so long that it wasn't just an aversion, it was who I was.
I didn't secretly like chocolate. I actually and truly didn't like it.
But this wasn't always the case, and wouldn't remain so. A photo from my first birthday with a chocolate-covered face, proves that I wasn't born with this aversion. Nor would my current refrigerator, freezer AND pantry be much use in verifying that I ever was.
However surreptitiously, I'd convinced myself to dislike chocolate for a seeming social gain. Because for children, attention and acceptance are a more valuable currency than any financial or caloric metric.
I love chocolate today.
And mushrooms, and mustard, and Brussels sprouts, and eggplant, and pecans, and raw oysters, and kalamata olives, and raw onions.
The foods that once disgusted me.
There are few things I'm unwilling to try, and even fewer that I haven't genuinely enjoyed.
Our developing taste buds are reflections of ourselves and portals into the world.
Food deserves to be savored - in the corners of our mouths, on the side of our plate, or in the back of our minds.
The food we eat deserves our attention, from how it's made to the people who provide it.
Our palate, appetite, and reaction to its appearance, smell, texture, and taste reflect and magnify our relationship with the world.
And I believe influence our empathy; our concern and consideration for the feelings and experience of others.
So, take care, and be mindful when eating and providing. Our sensitivities to food are not as delicate as the relationships they form.
And always drink water.
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