I remember it like it was yesterday.  The battle of wills when Mom served beef stew chock full of root vegetables including those dreaded parsnips and turnip.  Or a Sunday roast beef dinner with a side of Brussels sprouts.  And I HAD to eat them.  The “clean your plate” rule was strictly enforced in our house. I would sit, sometimes for up to an hour after the table was cleared, in a showdown with those stone cold veggies, Mom and my plate. 

As much as I hated those moments growing up (some would consider it abuse today), Mom taught me to at least give unfamiliar food a try.  I also learned I can eat foods I don’t necessarily love or even like once in a while.