the pickel barrel

When I was young (toddler to kindergarden type young) I was underweight to the point that people would stop my poor mother in the street and ask her if she was starving me. That's how thin I was.

With little itty bitty me, who was not only a picky eater but also had some serious food intolerances, it became very important that my mother tried to sneak nutrients into me at every chance she got. Cans of soups would have extra vegetables added. Snacks were almost exclusively fancy. White bread did not exist in our house.

As far as I knew, spaghetti was always green, because my mother used to buy fresh spinach pasta at Loblaws.

And so, there is a story of me, very young. Out to dinner at the Pickel Barrel with family. Turning my nose up, as I would, at every single item on the menu until my mother simpled ordered me buttered spaghetti. That's something I would eat.

When the spaghetti was delivered to the table? In it's normal (non-green) colour? Well little old me stands up, stands right up on the table and screams "That's not pasgetti! Pasgetti is supposed to be green!"

I was a riot as a kid. And last weekend? I had lunch at the exact same Pickel Barrel location that I made the spaghetti stink in.