I Always Knew I Had Superpowers

Iam going to drop some science on my dear readers and gently request that the world get over my love of french fries.

I recently validated that I am a SuperTaster. No, it doesn't mean that I have a fancy palate. Instead, what I have suspected for a while, and some reasonably legitimate websites finally confirmed I have scientific proof that I hate vegetables.

I am, in fact, not lazy or entitled or ill-informed. I eat a lot of plant matter and know corn is really a grain and potatoes are a starch and beans are legumes. I also know I have to eat yucky green stuff to really make it count.

But... I am in my 50s and if one more person tells me I should eat more vegetables, my head will explode. Not because I disagree, but because...again... I am in my 50s and Thanks. I’ve. Heard.

Incidentally, I also am aware I should exercise more so humankind can give that a rest too. This or that special diet or workout is not the magic bullet I’ve been missing all my life, so, sorry-not sorry. When I go out for lunch, it will not be salad. When I travel internationally, I WILL find a McDonald’s with food I know and love. Just sayin’. Anyway, science tells me due to many factors; greater number of receptors, what my mother ate when I was in utero, and even my DNA, predispose me and my super taste buds to find bitter flavors (and some sweet and spice flavors) literally unpalatable.

Apparently not liking things is a reflex, not a preference. A long time ago, we animals developed distastes to protect from dangerous or toxic things. PrecisionNutrition.com says, “Much of the modern work in the genetic basis of taste starts with a substance called PROP6 (6-n-propylthiouracil). Some people, it seems, find this substance overwhelmingly bitter. Others literally can’t taste it. At all.” Plus, when I say Propylthiouracil, I sound so smart!

So I’m one of the 25 percent of people for whom these alkaloids make some foods taste awful grapefruit juice, kale, tonic water, dry wine, broccoli, dark beer, Sicilian olives, and the like. My superpowers say, “nay nay” to those. E.g., if you make 3 gallons of spaghetti and put a bell pepper in it, all I will taste is pepper and I will make a face.

My mom insisted if I just tried the broccoli enough times, I would “get used to it.” I never did, and at least now I know why. So, thank you, Science, for giving me justification to ignore the eye-rolling when I say, “No thank you” to the green lumps in the casserole.

Still, with help from non-PROP6 people who are fortunate enough to enjoy cruciferous torture instruments in their salad, I did learn to cook broccoli because my son really loves it. Definitely got that DNA from his father.

Still, I promise to “complement and cushion” the stuff he does think is gross as smart mom-chefs have recommended so he might get used to more food. I also promised myself we wouldn’t have the nightly battles I had as a child you-have-five-minutes timers, and you’lleat-it-for-breakfast ultimatums.

I suppose the point of all this is just a nice way of:

1. reminding myself, and maybe some others, to stop fussing over the obvious. We can start with vegetables and maybe someday we can all stop fussing at each other about Tweets or vaccines; and 2. maybe we can give our kids a break when they say pork chops or peas are disgusting. I like them, but I won’t presume to know which alkaloids make my son crazy either.

Meanwhile, this Quarter Pounder is delicious and so far “I’m lovin’ it!” in ten countries and counting.

by Camy Reynolds