Pass the octopus, please. A friend and I were dining recently at a Mediterranean cafe, and as she handed me the bowl, it occurred to me how odd those words would have sounded coming from me 20 years ago. As a 7-year-old finicky eater, I never, ever, not in a hundred-bajillion years would have ever uttered such a thing. Octopus? Gross!As a child, I was addicted to chicken tenders and fries. The few vegetables I would eat came from cans. And all sandwiches, from PB&Js to turkey, were made with ...

Register to view this article

It’s free but we need to know a little about you to continually improve our content.

Why Register?

Registering allows you to unlock a portion of our premium online content. You can access more in-depth stories and analysis, as well as news not found on any other website or any other media outlet. You also get free eNewsletters, blogs, real-time polls, archives and more.

Attention Print Subscribers: While you have already been granted free access to NRN we ask that you register now.We promise it will only take a few minutes!

Questions about your account or how to access content?

Contact:BrianGalletta(813) 627-6722Brian.galletta@penton.comorEricaNamtalov(212) 204-4361Erica.Namtalov@penton.com

Already registered? here.