Picky eaters - don't you just hate them?

Britain's Prince Philip once wisely said: "If it has four legs and is not a chair, has wings and is not an aeroplane, or swims and is not a submarine, the Cantonese will eat it."

He's right, which is probably why I can't stand picky eaters: people who won't try a food because they don't like the sound of it (is pig's ear really worse than the back fat bacon is made from?); who refuse to order an item as basic as chicken wings because, "I don't eat meat off the bone"; who won't eat seafood.

They drive me insane. Often, it's a cultural thing. Some expats won't set foot in a cha chaan teng; other foreign tourists think ordering wonton in Tsui Wah is adventurous, but eating pig intestine in Kowloon is barbaric. Granted, not everyone wants to live off fish balls, chicken feet and 1,000-year-old eggs. But I think it's unacceptable for an adult to refuse perfectly good food at the dinner table unless there is a serious medical condition.

I wasn't born an adventurous eater. As a child, I hated any foods that were dark in colour. After my brother was diagnosed with asthma, my mum cooked him crocodile soup - which is believed to be a cure. In a show of support, the whole family had to drink it with him. I remember holding my nose, downing it and then thinking, "Hmm, it's not so bad."