My name is Erica, and I have a confession to make: I am not a foodie.
I love food, but for many, many years, the foods that I loved could have been counted on two hands. Chicken and rice (though only if made by mom or grandma). Pizza (just cheese, please). McDonald’s. Vanilla soft-serve ice cream. Bagels.
I was picky, but I was happy. I loved my handful of foods, and I could have eaten them — and nothing else — for the rest of my life.
I never understood why other people would gasp in horror, their mouths hanging open, when I told them I didn’t like chocolate or that I had never eaten bacon. …