All Yuck, No Yum

A complete(ish) list of foods I hate and why. I’m yucking yums, pouting, and possibly losing major hometown street cred for a certain famous citywide dish.

I wouldn’t call myself a picky eater. No, look at me. I’m not picky, I just have super taste buds and a particular palate when it comes to certain foods. I gravitate toward spice, savories, and sweets. The bold tartness of 90’s candy began a lifelong relationship with sour things. Those ridiculous butter spread commercials encouraged my gremlin-like behavior concerning French bread. My list is full of culinary trauma brought on by my own bright-eyed curiosity as a child, those moments when elders gently suggested trying stuff, and that one time my aunt insisted that raw tomatoes were delish.

Gag.

No, they are not.

I’m not doing racist stereotypes, I’m not coming for anyone’s food culture — there are just certain foods that turn my stomach. Age has not made it better, time has not improved any recipe, and my body will reject ’em violently, period. I shan’t force this pear-shaped temple to be subjected to rank food.

1. Raw Tomatoes: It’s the taste, the texture, and the way they feel in my gullet. I will take the time to meticulously remove chopped pieces from salads and tacos. I flick slices from burgers. I beg people in the special request boxes of order forms to keep them the hell off my food. When they’re cooked, I don’t care. I’ll eat tomato soup, I’ll devour them stewed (well done, no rawness left behind), and I have about 20 packets and a bottle of ketchup in my room right now. Hell, I love the savory taste of tomato sauce or paste in food. It’s the rawness in fresh salsa and other dishes that grosses me out. Jarred salsa? I’m making room in my schedule right now to drink some around 3 AM like an unhinged fridge monster.
2. Black Licorice: Dude. It’s just wrong, okay? The flavor, the aftertaste, the need to chew, the horrific fight to get alluvit outta my dang mouth…please! It’s gross! Every brand, every size, every version. I’m going to gag and roll around the floor maudlin-style as if I’m a super hammy Queen Gertrude poisoned to death! Black. Licorice. Is. DEMONIC. It’s chewy poison. I’m happy for you if you can eat it, but the smell alone takes me back to the first time I ate some out of curiosity and soon discovered that I would much rather listen to Roseanne screech The National Anthem on a 40-hour loop than take another bite.
3. Cilantro: No, not the singer…the herb. The herb that tastes like my aunt-grandma heard me say a semi-swear and shoved a bar of Dove into my filthy mouth. I don’t give a dig darn what that freakin’ Ancestry test says — I hate that stuff when it’s raw. Usually, I cannot tell if it’s present in cooked foods or in small doses. This is a common aversion but the taste is super strong in my mouth. Away, away!
4. Italian Sausage: First of all, I had to Google the thing that I actually don’t like in the sausage itself. That would be the fennel seed. The bitter, unpleasant, usually long-ish fennel-freakin’-seed. Without it, I can handle Italian sausage. Otherwise, I’m gonna grill you if you order a pizza, politely pick it off, or just avoid it altogether. I hate that first bite of accidental discovery when I end up with the sausage instead of beef. I hate how it smells! I sniff pizzas, spaghetti, and lasagna for traces of it. If you ever want to ruin my dinner, add this particular meat to the meal.
5. Circus peanuts: When I was in preschool, one of the teachers gave me one of these orange abominations. I ate it and it tasted like an unpleasant cloud of puffy, chewy confusion. I like the circus, I love peanuts, and I tolerate the color orange. When I was offered one of these things, I assumed it was going to be a regular salted peanut! I wasn’t expecting a big ol’ weird, chewy thing that probably was banana flavored. It would have made far more sense had it been orange flavored. Thinking I had it all wrong, I ate some more in the 90s, only to reach the same grossed-out conclusion: Circus Peanuts taste like a lot of sugary, artificial nothing. NEVER. AGAIN.
6. Liver: First of all, what kind of preschool program takes the time to cook small children LIVER? Bro, liver? Liver. Li-ver. And they made sure I ate it! Man, just give me a Flintstones Vitamin and a carton of milk. Make me a lil grilled cheese and let me play with the wooden blocks. Second, liver is bitter, moist, and impossible to make taste good. You can slather sauces, rice, onions, and the whole seasoning cabinet on that mess — I ain’t gonna eat it. I would have been in huge trouble had I no other choice at home, but thankfully my family knew I was a picky-ish eater and had a b-side meal ready. It’s an organ I can easily spot in a blind taste test. The smell alone is nauseating and dull, bringing back horrific memories of the cafeteria lead wheeling in the heater trays full of the saran-wrapped disaster. It was 1989, man. Y’all couldn’t throw together some White Castle for the kiddos? Some knockoff hotdogs?
7. Lima beans: Mushy, flavorless, thick-ass lima beans. Seasoned salt couldn’t save them, pepper couldn’t rescue them, and a houseplant that had been in the family for years suddenly died when yours truly shoved them in the dirt. I cannot, I will not, and if this world gives me a chance to be a mama…I refuse to feed them to my kids. I played with mine. I spent many a dinner annoying both my grandma and aunt with my lima-mushing games, eating very little. “Just enough” was always the rule of thumb, and I made sure to follow that to the letter. I like most beans and will shovel ’em in with gracious amounts of gusto and rice. Yet there’s something about limas that makes me gag. they sit on the stomach with nothing to offer taste-wise, with a texture that is best left to kinetic sand. Save yourself the trouble, make navy beans instead.
8. Cotto salami: It has freakin’ crunchy ass peppercorns in it. That’s way too busy and nasty in a sandwich. This lunchmeat is yet another cringe-worthy item that I tried in my youth, setting the course for decades of grossed-out feelings and tastebud memories. Regular salami is fine. I’ll arm wrestle you for that stuff. Cotto salami has an unfortunate texture that isn’t abundant but has just enough presence to disrupt my peace. If you like it, I love that for you.
9. Black olives: How can I describe my hatred? They taste wet. They taste wet, they’re often mushy, and they bring little to no flavor to most things folks insist on putting them in or on. They ruin all pasta salads and are best left to be sun-dried out of boredom. I don’t taste savory anything, just bland wetness like somebody sucked on them and then put them back. Just like the tomatoes, I will take the time to meticulously pick them off.
10. Dark chocolate: Bitter. BITTER. There’s an old-world evil living within the walls of all dark chocolate products. I don’t care what is in it, how “healthy” it is, or how authentic — dark chocolate is awful. Sure, jazz it up with nuts, berries, or jams. Sprinkle salt, drizzle this ‘n’ that — I still don’t want it. Accidentally eating it turns my gut. Flicking it or handing it to a willing party makes my day. Give me milk or white chocolate and leave me be! I dated a guy who ate it with gusto and could smell it on his breath for hours. I wasn’t gonna kiss those lips. The 70% stuff is by far the most demonic of all. If you want to cast me out, shove a bar of that crap in my face. Give me milk chocolate, damn it!
11. Rye Bread: Maybe I just don’t like caraway seeds. It’s not the smell, texture, or appearance of this bread that turns me off. What ruins it for yours truly is the taste. I cannot stand the taste of rye bread. It’s busy in the flavor department. People go on and on about Reuben sandwiches with gusto, and I’m just a wheat and whole grain gremlin downing corned beef sans the rye. The taste is unappealing. It’s too…bold? Rye bread has a taste going on that’s very much like that one pushy relative who insists and actually moves your body at the same time. People swear it’s because we’re all eating cheap rye, but I’m not interested in testing that theory.
12. Fruit cake: This is a pretty common one. I’m also aware that it’s mostly down to who made it and how, given that I’ve had at least one non-traditional pineapple variation in 2006 that was pretty dang tasty. Well, picture it — Christmas season, 1990-something. A young inner-city youth was preparing to visit the traditional family gathering of her people when her aunt-grandma cuts her a slice of fruitcake. She has never had a piece and assumed that it will be much like the usual cakes she has had thus far — sweet, filling, and a cherished holiday memory. She took a bite and suddenly a melange of horrific flavors flooded her mouth. The slice was sweet, yet wrong. A well-built cake, yet bulky. Something in the water did not compute. It was moist but different. The cake tasted a bit like stale candy, chopped nuts, carpeting, and feet. The taste is burnt into her senses for decades. The culinary trauma was set — fruitcake was rank! Aside from the variation, every other slice I’ve given a chance is right up there with the foot-carpet taste from the 90s. [Before you ask, I know what carpet tastes like because I have two male cousins, and we acted like idiots in the den every chance we got. Mashing faces in the carpet, being gross with our feet by way of “smellit!” torture— very typical stuff.]
13. Deep Dish Pizza: YEP, take my Chicagoan card away. Ban me from my hometown and hiss when you see me — I hate deep dish pizza. I’ve been trying to like it since 1996, and I’m sorry but it’s absolutely disgusting. I will devour Chicago-style thin crust (shout out to Italian Fiesta, Beggar’s, Fox’s, and Waldo Cooney’s!!!) all by myself, but the deep dish is a mess. Yeasty dough that’s chewy, too much sauce, the major abundance of cheese — ugh. Heartburn and nausea rolled into one, and I’ve had several varieties throughout the city to try and fix the issue. A thick wad of undercooked dough slapped together with cheese and sauce is not my kind of thing. Sorry dad, your kid is a freak!

14. Crunchy peanut butter: It’s crunchy, damn it! I like smooooth peanut butter with my jelly. Having texture in the peanut butter is extra chewing work. It’s thick and lumpy, in direct combat with my jelly. I’m trying to eat and be done without taking a long road to get there. My aunt and uncle swear by it and I’m looking right over the both of ’em, trying to get to my smooth Jif in peace. Extra textures make me immediately think something is wrong with my peanut butter. Is something in there that doesn’t belong? Did a bug crawl in? Yeah, this is why I don’t want a crunchy texture in my pbj — the mind runs wild.

15. Chitterlings: Oh just fight me on this one, ok? I don’t think I’m too good for anything or anyone, but them thangs stank. I don’t care how well you clean them, cook them, or season them — that’s a hard pass for the kid. They look gross and I bagged way too many of them at my first job. I know my ancestors ate what they could, but they did that and I’m sure my choices (most of them) aren’t gonna have them coming to haunt me. Don’t want ’em, don’t like ’em, had my fill when I was a kid. Hard pass. I didn’t need to know what part of the pig they came from. It was the smell and presentation alone that swiftly turned me off. Having to bag packet after frozen packet at my grocery store gig made me hate them even more. I will put all guilt trips on eternal hold because not even the threat of starvation would make me consume. It’ll just be my time, and my soul will never again know the rotten taste of chitlins!

16. Candy corn: Yet another common item that is disliked. I think this was mostly a case of overeating it as a kid, getting older, and finally being unable to handle the sweetness. Imagine that — a 90s kid with an aversion towards overly sweet candy! Candy corn is the worst kind of pure sugar, and I shake an old lady fist at my younger self for overdoing it one October night in 1996. I ate handful after handful of those adorable Brach’s Pumpkin Corns, ready to pop after complaining to my nana about having too many. Where I once willingly ate the standard form with salted Spanish peanuts, I soon became a candy corn hater. I hid them in houseplants, fed them to outdoor creatures, and even opted to burn a few in my 20s. It was cool to watch the artificial colors bubble and burn. In my late 30s, I see the molded sugar for what it is — an overhyped piece of bright garbage best left for decoration.

Fun to melt, not to eat.

17. Marzipan: Pretty to look at, not so much to eat. I can appreciate the talent and time that goes into creation and decoration. I admire the stunning displays I’ve seen online and in person at a certain hometown German market. I cannot, however, savor the flavor. I was a good sport and gave some a try, only to be left with the taste of almond paste lingering on my tongue. The delicate flavor isn’t necessarily unpleasant, but it personally leaves a lot to be desired. The sweetness is a little dull. I suppose that my disliking this nut paste makes no sense, as I’ve sworn myself to the wonders of peanut butter and other assorted solid nuts since I cut my first tooth. Marzipan is different. There’s so much of it — presentation, the scent, the hype — just to have a mouth full of smooth thickness that seems to be missing something.

18. Alternative kinds of milk: Pick one. Almond, cashew, rice, soy, oat, and whatever else they’re out here swearing up and down is “just as good as milk”. No, it isn’t, and I don’t care what scare and shame tactics you use against dairy milk or the lactose-free stuff. I’m still drinking regular milk. I have tried multiple times to drink these “healthier” kinds of milk, and all I can taste is a watery mess with faint textures and a hint of vanilla. It ruins my coffee, it makes my dang cereal bland, and it does not go with my Golden Oreos. It was borderline in a smoothie — my ex put almond milk in one, and I believe the Greek yogurt actually saved the day. I’m glad people have choices. I’m happy people who cannot digest milk have substitutes — they all taste watery and sad to me. Hard pass.

19. Sweet ‘n’ Low, Stevia, and the rest: BITTER. CHEMICALS. It all tastes like bitter sugar chemicals. Holy hell, if you ever want to see me make a super-cringe face, pass a couple of packets of this mess across the table. They’re highly offensive to my poor tastebuds. Turrible. I like sweetness and happiness in my cup. Fake or real, they all taste like a medicine-y punishment for an ill-mannered brat.

20. Green Peas: Don’t you dare pass them like ya used to. I distinctly remember getting super hard looks at the dinner table because I refused to eat peas. Meanwhile, I ate them with no question in the super unhealthy 7-layer salad from Jewel-Osco. In my defense, those were covered with mayo, bacon…and cheese. I kept calling the non-salad peas “boogers”, which sort of made my aunt and grandma mad. “Just eat them,” begged my dad in our talks on the way to school. Just like the limas, they found their way in everything else but my mouth — house plants, behind the radiator, in the garbage, mashed in the sink, and my personal favorite location — under the carpet on the stairs. To this day, I will take the time to pick them from pot pies, mixed vegetable medleys, and stir fry.

A terrible wave of peas. [by xponentialdesign]

21. Marshmallow Peeps: I like marshmallows, I like sugary coatings. I hate Peeps. Peeps don’t make sense. To my tongue, they taste like a marriage of overly sweet everything nestled between a bitterness I can only describe as “Crumplebottom-esque”. Yes, the lady from the OG Sims game who hit you with her purse. That bitter! Peeps are a colorful, chewy mess that looks great as decoration but not so much for human consumption. Kudos to the kids who tortured them in their microwaves and with lighters. I took one bite on Easter of 1995 and never looked back. I hid them in the basement. Peeps became a fast enemy. I was expecting a sweet congregation of sugar and artificial flavoring. I was looking for a vanilla or banana flavor but was met with bitterness and sharp flavoring that spread inside my little mouth. They looked prettier in the basket and should have stayed there. As an adult, it turns my stomach to see them in so many flavors and colors. My aunt adores them. She’ll never have to worry about me wrapping my paws around those terrible marshmallow disasters.

Fraudulent candy!! (by Pes)

22. Rocky Road Ice Cream: It’s busy. It’s coming, going, crunching, and mushing. Please, turn it off. All iterations stir up feelings of nausea and maudlin theatrics. My aunt swears by it, her husband won’t stop buying it for her, and I’ll eat black licorice before I touch it ever again. Marshmallows, in ice cream? Ugh. Chocolate-covered nuts? Alone, yes. Within the sickening sea of chocolate ice cream and marshmallows? No. I’m middle-aged my dang self, but I say this loud and proud — Rocky Road is an old-person flavor. It reeks of sensible slacks and sunhat energy. Hand over the Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla and leave me be.

23. Chocolate ice cream: This one has an “it depends” clause. I’ve been known to eat Kroger’s Brownie Ice cream. I like Good Humor’s fudge bars. I’m a Wendy’s Frosty fan and a chocolate gelato lover. However, there is something about plain chocolate ice cream that makes my head hurt. Something about it is just wrong. If Coldstone didn’t toss brownies and fudge in it, put that crap back. If it ain’t in a swirl, I don’t want it. I can’t stand it! My stomach will protest, my taste buds will taste bland unhappiness, and I’ll need a chaise lounger to warble my woes.

24. Spam: I don’t like it in my inbox and I don’t want it on my plate, either. My Boomer family loves it. I know it’s a whole thing with rice and seaweed. I acknowledge that certain cultures have embraced it! That’s super cool and I have nothing against them. I’ve had it in quite a few ways, and all I can taste is weird ham. It’s too salty, it’s bland, and my goodness is it THICK. Has the world gone mad? Am I the only freak in my family who can’t stand this stuff? Spam is horrific! It’s canned pork trying to be a lovely spiced ham. Please leave that to Honeybaked, damn it! Spam is a cheap impression. I get it — times were tough (still are…) and folks ate what they could. Nowadays, we have choices. If you still eat Spam because you’re partial to the flavor, good for you. I, however, need something that won’t elevate my already high blood pressure. Spam it ain’t.

25. Good n Plenty: Anyone who willingly eats this stuff is not to be messed with. There is something deeply unhinged within the walls of every single consumer of Good n Plenty. This is black licorice all prettied up in pink and white candy coating, for frack’s sake. Must we add layers to an already demonic candy? Apparently so, 130 years in. While this is technically a part of the licorice crew, I gave it its own listing because the coating fooled me. Licorice alone has the tendency to be bold and chewy. This stuff is bold, chewy, and candy-coated. Dude, sick. I got my first taste from a Halloween candy mix tossed into my bucket. I thought they were jellybeans. What a cruel, cruel trick to play on a kiddo.

26. Shamrock Shake: For years and years this shake and I shared a curious relationship: March would roll in, everyone would talk about it, and I would think about getting one. I would consider having a sip. It became an elusive thing. I knew they existed but never could seem to find one. They weren’t just…there on the menu. What if I asked for one and it ended up being some outdated thing? I finally got my grubby mitts on one about six years ago. Keep in mind that the make-up of shakes from McDonald’s is different from those creamy dreams decades ago. So, I’m pretty sure that shake I had wasn’t exactly like the OG. However…it was theeee worst. This was the thing people fondly hyped up about? Oh, honey. It was so bland. It was minty and bland. It was like a cheap imitation of those pastel after-dinner mints with a hint of ice cream and bottom-tier whipped cream. My curiosity was drowning in a sea of barely-thick minty green failure! Into the trash it went.

27. Prunes: Yes, I know what they are. Yes, I will eat that version with sensual gusto. Yet in prune form, I will gag. I don’t care how backed up I am, you ain’t gonna give me no dang prunes or prune juice. I was tricked into “enjoying” them as a child, to promote regularity. During the early 2k-teens, I swear there was a whole ad campaign to promote snacking on them in little packets. Ohhh that’s nice, they’re sweetened! Hard, wrinkly pass. The mushy texture, the pre-chewed flavor, and images of myself puttering around a nursing home make me want to shove these things into a fire.

28. Head Cheese: I was raised by old people. Most of them came from the South. Stuff like this was in the fridge from time to time. I went shopping with my aunt and uncle one fine day (shoutout to the long-gone Dominick’s!) and good old Uncle Thomas decided he wanted some head cheese. Now, being the cheese freak I am, I’m thinking that it’s literal cheese. Special cheese with a weird name. Ain’t no cheese in head cheese, dig? I liked it until I looked at it. Until I really got into the texture and the mouth-feel. Until the salt and aspic melted away. Until…I quietly shoved my remaining piece under Aunt Margaret’s lovely plastic-encased sectional couch. I thought the stuff was a special lunch cheese-meat! You know — the kind that sometimes has flecks of cheese or olives inside. I cannot describe how I realized it was different, but it was like a moment of clarity beyond what a 6-year-old should have. It wasn’t cheese. It wasn’t like regular lunch meat. It’s a bit more salty. What’s the jiggly stuff? The seasoning is interesting. (It was clove and rosemary-like, flavor-wise.) And then, I found myself disgusted. I never asked for it again, I tell you what.

29. Thousand Island Dressing: Contrary to popular belief, it ain’t Mac Sauce. So, there goes that intro line. And now I’m hearing Nicki repeat Mac Sauce in my head. Thousand Island Dressing is busy, okay? Bu-sy. Smelly, thick, too savory, and an all-out stomach-turning goop that overpowers salads. My gut and tastebuds reject the funky gunk! Hell, at 370 calories, I’m at least expecting a little flava! Not the chunky texture of relishes and such in the usual iterations. Not the overpowering funk of vinegar that transcends the varieties in the store. People swear by it and insist on slathering it on sandwiches. I, however, will be shoving it waaaay back into the cabinet.

30. Cherry Cordials: Yet another stomach-turner. Give them a chance? I’ve done it over and over from cheap to expensive, spitting them out every time. It’s a gooey dang cherry in the middle of chocolate. Pretty to look at, not so much to consume. Why the deep-fried f*ck would I want that in my mouth? I taste sweetness but it all ends up bitter. I cannot force myself to swallow. I cringe with every box of chocolates each Valentine’s Day knowing full well that I’m going to end up throwing out quite a few from the box. Maybe it’s because I’m picky about my sweets. Maybe it’s yet another “Millennial thing” older writers go on and on about — cherry cordials are not it. My aunt loves them. My dad may tolerate them. Nana Ellen had her fair share. I personally would like to feed them to the squirrels and deer.

That’s my list. I’d rather starve than consume, would prefer to two-step nude in town than have any of ’em on my plate, and will not budge on the matter. Super taste buds, I blame you all the way.

About the Author: Veronica is a Chicago native currently residing in a small Tennessee town. She works for Telus AI International, dabbles in writing poetry, and takes amateur macro shot pictures in her free time. She also tie-dyes and collects kitschy plush gnomes. [Contact Info]