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FOOD MEMORY What are your first memories of food?

When I try to remember my first memory of food, I recall sitting in a high-chair at my grandmother’s house. My nana would skin hot dogs, boil them, cut them up real nice and small for my baby mouth (I don’t know if I had teeth at this time or not) and feed them to me. I vividly remember this, unlike most of my really young life. I don’t eat hot dogs anymore (I started disliking them around the age of seven) but my nana still enjoys cutting up foods and giving them to me as a lil’ snack; these may include apples, carrots, cantaloupe, bread, pears, etc.  I also recall a very specific memory involving food. From when I was born until I was about four, my mom and I lived in a little condo in Lynn with only our cat. I remember said cat was petrified of everything and spent most of his time hiding wherever he could. One time, when he was hiding under the dining room table, I crawled to the side, and put peanut M&Ms near his face, giddily hoping he would eat one (he never did). Why this memory sticks out in my head, I have no idea. Maybe I find it funny how my infant mind didn’t register that cats don’t like peanuts, or M&Ms. After that, the memories I have of when I was younger regarding food are scarce, but the most affecting ones stay with me. Especially the ones that were routine. Every Thursday, when my mom would receive her paycheck, she would take me out to a fast food restaurant of my choice. I would change my mind on which one depending on which particular chain had the most appealing toy in the kids meal. Being the picky eater that I was (and still am), I wouldn’t eat beef, yet would make my mom still order the kids meal with the burger, and have the employees take most everything out of the burger - no ketchup, no lettuce, no tomato, no pickles, no beef patty; a cheese sandwich essentially. What is really funny is that, most fast food employees have been trained to not have the slightest idea of what a “cheese sandwich” might be, so this often called for much frustration and confusion for both parties, my mom and I, and the fast food faculty. And God help the poor soul who gave us - gave me - a burger with all the fixings on it. Some memories are less vivid, but what usually sticks out is how picky I am. I remember, before I stopped liking red meat (I don’t know why to this day) that my mom would make steak once a week or so, and I would pour salt on mine until it’d taste more like an ocean than a steer. Trips to the beach - when sand would get on my pizza, I would refuse to eat the rest of it. Pizzas had to be strictly cheese and THAT’S IT. I think I may have eaten too much cheese as a child.