Tastebuds in Bloom: From Picky to Passionate

“To taste fully is to live fully.”

—Kate Christinsen

There was never a time I didn’t love food—but I’ve always been, let’s say, particular about it. My plate was never barren, but it was certainly edited. Certain textures? No thank you. Strong smells? Not a chance. And don’t even try to sneak mushrooms in—I’d find them, even chopped microscopic.

But being selective never meant I was difficult or ungrateful. It simply meant I knew what worked for me, what felt good, and what I genuinely enjoyed. That said, over the years, something has been shifting. Whether it’s motherhood, health goals, or just a growing hunger for newness—I’ve started to notice that the things I once politely passed on… I’m now considering again.

This post is a little love letter to the foods I adore, the flavors I’ve grown into, and the slow, blooming process of expanding my tastes with intention and joy.

Selective by Nature

I’ve never liked the word picky. It sounds dismissive—like someone who turns their nose up without reason. That’s never been me. I’ve always had reasons, even if they were deeply personal or hard to explain.

Take mushrooms, for example: it’s not the flavor—I can appreciate their earthiness—it’s the texture. That spongy, slippery bite? Absolutely not. Fish? Same idea. It’s not the smell or the taste that gets to me—it’s the texture. That soft, sometimes slimy or rubbery feel when chewing it? It makes me instantly recoil. And olives—don’t even get me started. They’re one of the few foods where I don’t love the flavor either, but it’s still the texture that really turns me off. That briny burst paired with a weirdly soft but firm skin? It’s a sensory experience I’d just rather skip.

It’s actually pretty rare for me to dislike a flavor outright. What trips me up more often than not is texture. I can appreciate the taste of something in theory and still not want it anywhere near my mouth simply because of how it feels.

There were a handful of foods like this, things I wouldn’t necessarily declare as gross, but ones I gently nudged off my plate when no one was looking. I stuck to what I knew. What I loved. What I felt safe with.

And honestly? That served me just fine for a long time. I loved what I loved. I was content.

A Shift Toward Openness

Lately, I’ve felt something softening in me when it comes to food. Not a dramatic overhaul, just a quiet shift—a curiosity nudging me to revisit the things I once dismissed. I think part of it comes from becoming a mom. When you’re feeding someone else every day, you start thinking more about balance, about variety, about what food can offer beyond just calories and convenience. You want to model openness, even if that means taking a hesitant bite of something you’ve avoided for years.

There’s also my deepening love for Japanese culture. The way meals are layered with care, seasonal intention, and subtlety—there’s something about that approach that makes me want to broaden my own. I don’t want to just look at the food traditions I admire—I want to taste them, too, even if that means stepping out of my comfort zone.

But this isn’t about forcing myself to like things I don’t. It’s about inviting in new experiences slowly, intentionally, and without judgment. I still won’t order a bowl of olives or a filet of salmon anytime soon, but I’ve started saying yes to things I once automatically said no to. I’ve started trying again—and that feels like growth.

Current Favorites

Even with all the shifts and experimentation, there are some foods that have stood the test of time—my reliable, comforting go-tos that never let me down. These meals aren’t just tasty; they feel like home in my body.

Breakfast lately has been eggs and chorizo with crispy hash browns. It’s the kind of meal that feels hearty and grounding, like it’s setting the tone for the whole day. I love the little pop of spice from the chorizo, the richness of the yolk when it runs into the potatoes, and the way everything gets a little crispy around the edges if you cook it just right. It’s simple, but it satisfies in a way that never gets old.

Lunch is usually leftovers—but that just means I get to enjoy a meal I love all over again. There’s something comforting about not having to make another decision, and instead, reheating something delicious and familiar.

Lately, I’ve been absolutely loving two dinner staples. The first? A good burger. And not just any burger—my burger: piled high with pepperoncinis, red onion, barbecue sauce, bacon, crisp lettuce, melty cheese, and a fried egg. It’s messy in the best way, full of big flavors and textures, and it hits every craving all at once.

The second is a classic, but when done right, it’s everything: a medium-rare steak, juicy and flavorful, served with loaded potatoes and broccoli tossed in cooked garlic (and plenty of it). It’s satisfying in that soul-deep way that makes you close your eyes after the first bite.

And then there are the drinks—my rituals throughout the day. A bold green tea to shake the fog off in the afternoon, jasmine tea with collagen for a moment of calm, a protein-rich matcha latte in the evening that somehow feels both indulgent and intentional. These aren’t just beverages. They’re little pauses. Anchors. Gentle reminders to care for myself.

These favorites are familiar, yes—but they’ve also evolved. I notice new details now: the way certain seasonings make a dish feel brighter, how much more enjoyable a meal is when I’m actually present for it. That presence—that pleasure—is part of what fuels my curiosity to keep exploring.

The Foods I’m Learning to Love

I don’t believe in forcing myself to eat something just because it’s trendy, healthy, or “good for me.” That’s never been the point. But I do believe in staying open. And little by little, I’ve found myself coming back to foods I once set aside—not to conquer them, but to meet them with fresh eyes (and maybe a new recipe or two).

Mushrooms, for example. Still not my favorite, but if they’re chopped super fine and blended into something like a sauce, soup, or stuffing, I can appreciate the umami they bring. It’s a texture workaround that lets me enjoy the flavor without the mental hurdles. I don’t need to sit down and eat a grilled portobello to feel like an adventurous eater—I just want to find what works for me.

Tofu has taken a similar path. I’ve never minded the flavor, but the texture used to stop me cold. Lately, though, I’ve started frying it for a crispy bite, blending it into sauces for added protein, or mixing it with ground meat to tone down the softness. It’s become one of those quiet little victories—something I once avoided that now has a regular place in my meals.

I’ve also grown to love bold, fermented flavors like kimchi and the comforting brininess of seaweed. I eat a lot of seaweed now—sprinkled over rice, wrapped around onigiri, or just as a snack. Onigiri itself has become a favorite, especially when I mix in small amounts of fish alongside other proteins to help soften the texture issue. This kind of balance makes it easier for me to enjoy something I used to avoid entirely.

It turns out, texture—not flavor—is usually what holds me back. But the more I experiment with new preparations and combinations, the more foods I find myself actually enjoying. I’ve learned that being selective doesn’t mean being closed off. There’s a big difference between “I don’t like that” and “I haven’t liked that yet.”

And that mindset—that softness—is what keeps me moving forward, one bite at a time.

A Taste Reimagined

As I’ve expanded my palate, I’ve also had to reimagine my entire relationship with food—what it means to eat well, to feel well, and to nourish myself in a way that actually works for my body.

Because I’m lactose intolerant, I’ve found that an Asian-inspired diet just makes the most sense for me. It’s not only flavorful and balanced—it also makes my gut feel amazing. Meals built around rice, veggies, fermented sides, miso soups, and lighter proteins seem to click with my body in a way that the standard American diet never really did.

That’s not to say I think the American way of eating is inherently bad—it’s just never really served me. I used to crave super sweet, ultra-processed foods almost reflexively, and I think a lot of that came from how addictive those convenience items can be. But now, I’ve realized that I don’t actually like overly sugary things as much as I thought I did. These days, I’d rather visit a place like 85°C Bakery and grab something freshly made, less sweet, and more intentional—(I know it’s not perfect or the healthiest option out there, but it feels better to me). I always feel better afterward—physically and emotionally.

I’ve become more conscious of how food makes me feel, not just during the meal, but after. And that awareness has reshaped my habits in ways I never expected. I’m finding better substitutions, exploring cuisines that support my body’s needs, and discovering that my version of “healthy” doesn’t have to mean boring or restrictive.

It just means mine.

This whole journey hasn’t been about perfection—it’s been about presence. And what I know for sure is that my tastebuds are still in bloom. As long as I keep listening—with curiosity, kindness, and maybe a little garlic—I know I’ll keep finding joy in every bite.

“Learning to love something new is its own kind of nourishment.”

—Petals & Ponderings