Picky Eaters

& Why I Can't Date Them Anymore

I was discussing with my therapist my disdain for dating picky eaters. Particularly, picky eaters regarding condiments. Mayonnaise, ketchup, mustard, ranch, salad dressings and sauces generally speaking. I’ve now dated three men who all had a strong aversion to particular condiments. With each of their revelations at their respective times, I’ve felt…odd. “Getting the ick” is the colloquial term for it these days, but it wasn’t necessarily an icky feeling. It was more alarming than it was a feeling of disgust.

At first, I brushed this off, thinking that my Cajun upbringing of trying almost anything once (exception being sheep’s brain - I had to draw the line somewhere) was clouding my judgment. There are foods I don’t like, certainly, but even with the foods I don’t like, I won’t be so opposed to at least eating some of it. My dislike of certain foods is not a reaction of physical disgust but rather just a simple preference. I did not realize that this feeling was not a universal one.

To me, condiments such as salad dressings and sauces are a part of daily life. I can’t think of any I have a strong aversion to. Sure, I prefer some more than others, but I can’t necessarily say I hate any condiment. But these men that I dated all had relatively extreme, child-like repulsions to the seemingly normal food items.

Mind you, I’m not talking about people with actual medical conditions such as ARFID or neurodivergent folks who only eat a handful of foods. I’m also not talking about people who have health conditions or allergies to foods (I being one of them - I love the taste of stone fruits, but my body doesn’t like them one bit). I’m talking about (from what I know) neurotypical men who just refuse to eat a common food item because, well, they’re picky.

My first concern regarding these aversions was situated in their age ranges. All of these men were over the age of 25. I did not realize that there were so many people out there that were picky eaters post-childhood years, particularly concerning every day food items. Again, preference is one thing, but total food aversion to a common food product is another.

Another concern was a matter of what they did like. At least one of them was otherwise adventurous with their palette, preferring spicy and bitter flavors such as wasabi, high spice Asian food, and licorice. But God forbid you put ketchup on his plate or a mayonnaise-heavy aioli. Another one was on a diet of only chicken tenders until he was 26 and would prefer dry lettuce to any salad dressing on the market. The final one was fine with the sirracha on his hot dog but was appalled when I put mustard on mine.

There were plenty of excuses related to the texture, taste, and smell of the condiments. However, all of them could be summarized as “I don’t like ____ because I just don’t.”

My therapist, of course, wanted to analyze why I was so bothered by dating yet another picky eater. Of course, I knew generally why, but admitting it all to myself was not why I brought it up. I just wanted to complain. Nonetheless, I conceded.

I knew that I (unintentionally) equated strong aversions to condiments to childish behavior. I wanted to date a man, not a child who would throw a tantrum if ketchup touched his food. I also didn’t want to mother a full-grown man.

The more we talked, though, I realized that being that picky or repulsed by something so normal wasn’t just a quirk— it was a flaw. A red flag, if you will. Because someone so disturbed, so disgusted by something so minor such as a condiment was what was so concerning to me. If he were to react this way to a condiment, how would he handle a small conflict? A large fight? Would he completely avoid talking about hard things because he just didn’t like to deal with the discomfort? Was it an overkill to think this way? Am I overreacting to something so seemingly minor? Am I just once again looking for an out from continuing to date this guy?

The reality of it, though, was not that my avoidant attachment was kicking in for the sole reason of looking for an out of this potential relationship. In fact, the opposite: I overtly denied my desire to avoid because of the good I otherwise did see in these guys. This concern was my gut telling me what I already knew - if my alarm bells were going off for a little thing like disliking condiments, it was because of a bigger thing I could not yet articulate. My avoidant attachment didn’t kick in because I was looking for an out—it kicked in because I needed to recognize the out myself.

My therapy session concluded with me swearing off picky eaters and trusting my gut when it comes to seemingly stupid things like disliking a condiment. So, I’m basically cured and healed. Just like that. Maybe. Hopefully. Time will tell. Until then, though, if you need me, I’ll be with a basket of fries and a various assortment of sauces to choose from.