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Welcome to the food-fixated ramblings of a 30-something writer, wife, mother and former waitress whose thoughts are eaten up with things like: “Mashed potatoes sound really good right now,” and “Who in this town does a decent poached egg?”

These are high times for those in the food-o-sphere. Few groceries are out of reach. Ingredients and dishes once considered weird are now customary. I can’t go more than a few hours without bringing up the subject of food in conversation. But in the midst of the chit-chat, I’ve learned there are plenty o’ quirks to go along with the passion. Adults, it seems, can be as picky as kids.

Case in point: My friend Adam, whose recent San Francisco wedding was a culinary tour de force, admitted the following turnoffs:

“I loathe raisins in things," he said. “On their own, they’re OK, but in things, they get wet and bloated. Once they’re dried they need to stay dried and not swell up like they do in oatmeal or chutney or bread pudding. I also can’t stomach sweet pickles, persimmons and water chestnuts.”

Other examples have crossed my path: My husband can’t come near a Ritz Cracker. I entertained someone recently who refused my main course – lamb – because “lamb was too strong.” I dated a guy once who claimed mint made him gag and cantaloupe made his ears burn. (I quit him.)

The more I bring up the subject, the more I realize what command the taste buds have far into adulthood. A friend from New Orleans universally dismissed seafood. My own father can’t stomach yogurt or any mustard besides French’s neon yellow. Both beets and sweet potatoes leave another gal I know cold. The texture grosses her out.

So what is it? Why are some foods thoroughly incompatible with some mouths? Body chemistry or childhood trauma? As a kid, everything from meatloaf to broccoli threw me into a kitchen floor seizure, but I love them all now. Where does an adult’s culinary blacklist come from? Is everyone secretly jeebed out by something?

Eat on.