I hate olives…

I really like food—like, I really like food. I try everything at least once, and I’m willing to give things several chances just to see if the conditions of the dish that day contributed to my dislike. I think food is much more than a basic need to live. The way people toast their bread or make their coffee says more about them than their appearance.

Growing up, I only ate food my mom made. I didn’t try a single street taco until I was about ten years old. Despite that, I really loved food, and I learned how to prepare simple dishes at a very young age. I wanted things to be exactly the way I imagined them, and I figured the only way to achieve that was to do it myself. The thing is, even though we had a huge variety of food at home—fresh vegetables, all kinds of seasonal and tropical fruits, freshly made dairy products, and incredibly flavorful sauces and dishes—I wanted more.

Being surrounded by the same delicious and nutritious food my whole life made me very curious to try new things and eager to eat anything but homemade food. I used to spend the little money my dad gave me every Sunday on imported food from City Club or Sam’s Club. Of course, many of the things I bought seemed delicious to me as a kid, but when I tried them, they were disgusting. There were things like Parmesan cheese, which wasn’t common at all in my hometown in Mexico, as well as strange sauces with anchovies or balsamic vinegar—things that, of course, a seven-year-old wouldn’t enjoy.

As I grew older, I had the chance to try not only those foods again, but also many others I had once only dreamed of eating. To my surprise, I liked them. I’m really glad I stayed firm and kept trying them again and again until I enjoyed them. Now I can appreciate the herbal aroma of olive oil on bread, the nutty, almost spicy flavor of good Parmesan, and even the visceral flavor and strange (in a good way) texture of tripe. But there is one thing I truly don’t like: olives.

I hate olives. I despise them. I cannot stand them, and I have tried hard to like them. I’ve tried many types from many brands, and every time I see them served as an appetizer, I feel compelled to try them. Then I hate myself for doing it. Over time, I realized I have to accept my fate: I can’t like everything, and that’s fine. Actually, I think it makes me a better person. When someone tells me they don’t eat something—whether because they don’t like it or due to dietary restrictions—I may struggle internally, but I’m supportive and don’t judge, also they make a good conversation.

That said, if you offer me olives, I’ll still eat them.