Recovering from childhood traumas
I'm not a picky eater. Someone else said that they'll always at least try to act as if they're enjoying whatever they're given; that's something I do as well, if only out of politeness (I experience misgivings when something looks as if its rightful home is an unmarked grave rather than a dinner plate, but I'll usually eat it all the same) and I'm usually pleasantly surprised. I've learned, however, that if I really can't stomach it I can simply drench it in hot sauce and claim an incorrigible predilection for really spicy food. Number one, that isn't far from the truth, and number two, hotsauce * assloads = -taste.

However: there are certain things that I have an odd aversion to. In my defense, there's a good reason for all of them.

First off: raisins. Aside from the obvious complete insanity of thinking, "Hmm, what a lovely fruit, but I think it might taste better AFTER I LEAVE IT TO ROT IN THE SUN FOR A DAY OR SO", I distinctly remember a story told to me when I was young and impressionable about my downstairs neighbor (we lived in a vertical duplex) getting up in the middle of the night with a craving for dried-grapey goodness. The light on her refrigerator wasn't working, however, so after popping several raisins in her mouth and remarking upon their juiciness she decided to turn the kitchen light on. At which point she discovered that she had been eating lovely, juicy... earwigs.
(Come to think of it, alarm bells should've started ringing when I heard she found bugs in her fridge for no reason.)

Anyway. Secondly: things that are excessively creamy. Things like whipped cream, cole slaw, mayonaise, yogurt, et cetera ad nauseum (often literally). Bonus 'ewww' points if the food is also white or light-colored, but it's the consistency that really bothers me; I don't trust food that can't decide whether it's a solid or a liquid. I never liked them really, not since I was little, but I think a large part of that stems from the fact that my mom's best friend Tonya took great pleasure in tormenting little impressionable me about my phobia for creaminess. For example: we'd be in a restaurant and I'd have built a wall of menus and ketchup bottles around my plate so I didn't have to see the creamy shit on someone else's (I was an odd little nipper). Tonya would say, in her most calming, talking-to-toddlers voice, "It's OK, the creamy stuff is gone" and when I removed the menus I would come face-to-face with her making a face at me with obscene amounts of said creaminess on her tongue. Wasn't the most encouraging thing ever.
Nowadays, though, creamy stuff doesn't bother me as much, especially not creamy stuff which I know tastes good. I never had a problem with ice cream, and I can eat things like whipped cream and mayonaise in small amounts. However, living in a country where they fuckin' drown their fries and pies in mayo and whipped cream (respectively) doesn't help much.

One last amusing 'OMG CANT EAT TEH F00D N00B' anecdote:

My... step-great-grandpa (when he was still alive) couldn't stand mustard. At all. He probably had a good reason too, but that isn't the point. He wouldn't eat anything that he knew contained mustard... but my step-great-grandma had been using mustard in his favorite dish for years. One day (presumably after a disagreement about mustard) she decided to tell him. Hilarity ensued.

CK
(CK is rocking out near you (cosmologically speaking), Sun 4 Mar 2007, 12:11, Reply)