The most emotionally charged meal in my house growing up was ham and mashed potatoes.
For my brother and sister, it was a delight, a joy, a thrilling treat to anticipate when my mom whipped up the potatoes and baked a luscious red ham.
She always seemed to thrill to making “our” favorite meal, and she frequently mentioned how much “we” loved it.
I nodded along, always the child who didn’t want to make waves.
Occasionally, however, I would try to gently work in something about the fact that I not only hated ham, but I also hated mashed potatoes. It was “their” favorite meal, not mine, and I resented the casual over site.
Now that I’m an adult, the issue is all resolved, although by this time I actually kind of do like ham and mashed potatoes.
Must be an acquired taste…