It's Not the Food. It's What You Do With It.
How I helped my husband discover the pleasures of foods he thought he hated.
My husband didn't like tofu. Or kale. Or mushrooms. Or eggplant.
I liked all four. Now, one solution would have been to stop serving those foods. In fact, a friend recently told me that she loves eggplant, but her husband doesn't, so they simply don't eat it. That got me thinking. How many delicious foods disappear from our tables because someone in the household has decided they don't like them?
I understand that everyone has different tastes. Some people are especially sensitive to bitterness. Others can't stand certain textures. And our cultural backgrounds and childhood experiences have an enormous influence on what we consider appealing.
My husband grew up in northern New Hampshire in the 1930s, '40s, eating a diet strongly influenced by Québécois traditions that influenced his grandmother's cooking. Tofu certainly wasn't on the menu. I grew up in Miami, where I was exposed to a much wider variety of culinary influences. Think Cuban and Caribbean. Then, there was my Swedish grandmother. My father had spent a lot of time in China and Japan while in the Navy and we went out for that all the time. And, let's not forget Southern.
We brought very different food histories to our marriage.
But I've discovered something over the years: When someone says they don't like a food, the most useful question isn't "How can I persuade you to eat it?" It's "What, exactly, don't you like about it?"
Once you understand the objection, you can start experimenting. And sometimes the results are downright astonishing.
Here's how we got there.
Mushrooms: When the Problem Is a Memory
My husband's aversion to mushrooms was particularly interesting because it wasn't really about flavor or texture. It was the very idea of mushrooms.
I suspect this dated back to his experiences with the raw white button mushrooms that were ubiquitous on old-fashioned salad bars. Those pale, uncooked slices weren't exactly an inspiring introduction to the culinary possibilities of fungi.
And once you've decided you don't like something, why would you voluntarily try it again? Enter the oyster mushroom.
For a time, I was getting large cartons of exquisite blue oyster mushrooms and other varieties from a grower. In the charity kitchen where I was cooking, we roasted them in a conventional oven. At home, I used my convection oven.
I seasoned them with Kinder's Woodfired Garlic blend and roasted them until they developed beautifully browned, crispy edges. The result? Little umami bombs.
Roasting drives off moisture, concentrates flavor, and creates delicious browning. Oyster mushrooms prepared this way bear little resemblance to the raw button mushrooms of an old-fashioned salad bar.
And that was the breakthrough.
The lesson: Sometimes you don't need to change someone's opinion of a food. You need to give them an entirely different experience of it.
If someone's only encounter with mushrooms has been raw slices on a salad bar or rubbery canned mushrooms, try roasting fresh oyster mushrooms until their edges are crisp. The transformation can be remarkable.
Eggplant: Let It Join the Party
Eggplant is another food that inspires strong opinions.
For some people, it's the texture. For others, it's bitterness or the memory of a soggy, oily preparation. My approach has often been to make eggplant part of a delicious ensemble rather than asking it to perform a solo.
Take my Ratatouille. Or Caponata. These are dishes in which eggplant joins tomatoes, onions, peppers, garlic, herbs, and other ingredients. Each contributes something to the finished dish, and together they create flavors far more interesting than any single ingredient on its own. Eggplant is especially good at absorbing and carrying the flavors around it.
Recently, a neighbor gave me an eggplant. I combined it with cherry tomatoes from our garden in a dish inspired by an Eric Ripert bruschetta recipe and served it with freshly baked focaccia.
When I told my husband that the vegetables were a mélange of tomatoes and eggplant, he didn't hesitate. He ate every bite. The eggplant wasn't hidden. It was simply one delicious component of a larger meal—what I like to call a tasting menu.
I enjoy serving meals this way. A little of this, a little of that, different flavors and textures sharing the plate. It gives people opportunities to discover something new without making a big production out of trying an unfamiliar food. In France, you'll see this on menus as a Menu Dégustation.
The point isn't to trick someone into eating eggplant. It's to make eggplant part of something they'll genuinely enjoy.
The lesson: If an ingredient seems unappealing on its own, introduce it as part of a dish filled with familiar, appealing flavors.
Kale: Taming the Bitter Beast
Kale presented a different problem.
My husband found it bitter. And he had a point.
Kale, collards, and other members of the brassica family contain compounds called glucosinolates. These and their breakdown products contribute to some of the sharp, bitter, and pungent flavors associated with these vegetables. Other compounds contribute to bitterness as well.
To complicate matters, our sensitivity to certain bitter compounds varies, partly because of genetics. What tastes pleasantly assertive to one person may taste overwhelmingly bitter to another.
So telling someone that kale is good for them isn't going to make it taste better.
My solution for raw kale salad (recipe is here) is simple.
First, I chop or slice the leaves. Then I immerse them in hot tap water and give them a good massage. I drain them and, if I'm making a salad, immerse them in cold water before draining again. This treatment helps soften the leaves and makes their texture more pleasant.
But the real magic is in the dressing and the other ingredients.
I start with a balsamic dressing, sweetened with a little maple syrup or agave. Then I add nuts and dried fruit, depending on what I have in the pantry.
Sometimes it's roasted cashews and dried cherries. Other times it's walnuts, big raisins, or dried cranberries. There's no need to be rigid about it.
The nuts provide crunch and richness. The dried fruit offers little bursts of sweetness that contrast with the assertive flavor of the greens. And the balsamic dressing brings everything together.
I once prepared this salad for a farm-to-table lunch where there were young children among the guests. I fully expected them to turn up their noses at kale.
To my surprise, they didn't. Once they tasted it, they were on board.
My husband had much the same reaction.
It was a useful reminder that we shouldn't always assume we know what someone will or won't enjoy—especially children. Sometimes all it takes is a first delicious bite.
It's worth noting that massaging and rinsing kale aren't guaranteed to remove its bitter compounds. But softening the leaves and balancing their assertive flavor with complementary ingredients can dramatically change the eating experience.
The lesson: Sometimes the solution isn't to eliminate an objectionable flavor. It's to balance it with other flavors and textures.
This principle applies far beyond kale. Bitter greens, radicchio, broccoli rabe, and many other vegetables can become much more appealing when thoughtfully prepared.
Tofu: Blandness Is an Opportunity
And then there's tofu.
My husband's objection was straightforward: It was bland.
Well, yes. Plain tofu can be bland.
But I don't consider that a fatal flaw. I consider it an invitation to cook.
Tofu has a relatively neutral flavor, which means it can work beautifully with an enormous range of seasonings and sauces.
My approach begins with pressing the tofu to remove some of its moisture. Then I marinate it.
Next, I pan-sear or air roast (in my Ninja Oven) the pieces in a modest amount of oil until they develop a deeply browned exterior.
Finally, I toss them in a flavorful sauce. One particularly successful version used hoisin.
The finished cubes are glossy, savory, slightly sweet, and beautifully browned. The contrast between their flavorful exterior and tender interior is part of the appeal.
I served them as part of a colorful meal with brown rice and vegetables.
This wasn't a plate of plain tofu presented as some sort of nutritional obligation.
It was dinner. A really good dinner.
And my husband loved it.
So much so that I captured him on video (at the top of this post) looking into the camera and declaring how delicious the tofu was. Completely unsolicited. I hadn't coaxed him in any way. For someone who once dismissed tofu as bland, that was quite a transformation.
The lesson: Blandness isn't necessarily a problem with an ingredient. Sometimes it's a problem with what we haven't yet done to it.
Become a Food Detective
These experiences have convinced me that when someone rejects a food, the first step is to figure out what they're actually rejecting.
Is it the flavor? The texture? The smell? The appearance? An unpleasant childhood memory? Or simply unfamiliarity?
Different objections call for different solutions.
If something tastes bitter, experiment with cooking methods and complementary flavors.
If the texture is unpleasant, try roasting, browning, chopping, or preparing it in an entirely different form.
If it's bland, consider marinades, aromatics, sauces, and the flavor that develops through browning.
If the objection comes from an old experience, introduce a preparation that bears little resemblance to the original.
And if the ingredient itself seems intimidating, incorporate it into a dish with other familiar, appealing ingredients.
Of course, none of this guarantees success.
Some people genuinely dislike certain foods, regardless of how they're prepared. Taste is personal, and there is no reason to turn the dinner table into a battleground.
But I think we often give up too quickly.
We taste something once, decide we don't like it, and carry that judgment around for decades.
Or we accept someone else's dislike as a permanent restriction on what we cook.
What a shame, when a different technique, a different seasoning, or a different culinary tradition might open the door to something wonderful.
A Little Curiosity Goes a Long Way
There's another aspect of this story that I find particularly satisfying.
My husband is in his nineties.
He grew up eating foods very different from those we enjoy today. Yet he has continued to discover new tastes and pleasures at an age when many people assume our preferences are permanently fixed.
I think there's a lesson in that, too. We don't have to stop being curious about food as we get older.
And for those of us who want to eat more plant-based meals—for our health, for the environment, or simply because plants can be extraordinarily delicious—learning how to prepare vegetables, legumes, mushrooms, and tofu in appealing ways is an invaluable skill.
Eating more plants doesn't have to mean giving something up.
It can mean discovering an entirely new world of flavors.
So the next time someone tells you they hate eggplant, mushrooms, kale, or tofu, don't immediately cross that ingredient off the menu.
Ask what they don't like about it. Listen to the answer.
Then put on your culinary detective hat and start experimenting.
You may not change their mind.
But you might just discover a preparation that changes their experience.
And if you're really lucky, you'll have the camera rolling when they announce that the food they thought they hated is absolutely delicious.
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