I’m not a fan of the word Foodie. The word is too cute for a passion I take very seriously. I love to eat, to bake, to cook. I read and study cookbooks for ideas and inspiration. I don’t watch much television, but when I do, I prefer baking competitions and food-porn documentaries. I bake bread for my family (and for others via EatLikeaMother.com), and when we go out to dinner, I research the chef, the menu, the bread program.

Years ago, I subscribed to Gourmet magazine (RIP) and often made the cover recipes. My Dad was also an enthusiastic cook and eater, and I inherited his love of all things interesting and edible from him. My husband didn’t grow up around a dinner table that was quite as daring, but he is always up for new culinary adventures.

When my oldest son was little, I encouraged him to try every flavor and texture. As a baby, he preferred his watermelon with a balsamic vinaigrette, which I considered a win. So when his little brother came along, I assumed we’d continue the family tradition.

Not so fast.

I’ve said before that parenting is an ongoing lesson in humility, and there’s nothing like raising siblings to remind you that nature beats nurture every time. My younger son does not share our enthusiasm for exploring new food. For a while, his menu consisted almost solely of the Beige/White Food Group: Chicken nuggets, fish sticks, cheese sticks, pasta, crackers (Graham, saltines, or Wheat Thins), pretzels, peanut butter, bread, and milk.

But where are the fruits and vegetables you ask? I have the same question.

We have added apple sauce and fruit-infused yogurt to the mix, but technically, those are still Beige/White and do little to assuage my guilt and occasional frustration over what I considered a boring menu, to say nothing of the lack of nutritional diversity.

He usually eats whatever protein we’re serving, even if he prefers no sign of herbs or other seasoning. Still, some moments force me to take a deep breath – like when I watch him surgically remove a speck of oregano from a piece of chicken. Luckily, I have a success story to draw upon.

Beside me at our family table was my younger brother, who had never been a brave diner. I remember him favoring a menu heavy on iceberg lettuce, hot dogs, apples, potato chips, white American cheese, macaroni and cheese, and Little Debbie cakes. Then, suddenly, when he was an older teenager, he began to explore new foods. Now, not only is he an adventurous eater, but he’s also probably the healthiest sibling of the four of us, despite his foundation of cheese and carbs.

So I try not to panic at my son’s repetitive, beige plates, and sometimes I even see a glimmer of hope.

We recently took the boys to dinner at Gaijin to celebrate my husband’s birthday. Chef Paul Virant’s lovely restaurant features okonomiyaki, a Japanese pancake layered with rice or noodles, cabbage, katsuobushi (thinly sliced dried fish flakes), and various sauces. Sounds crazy, maybe, but it’s an umami bomb and incredibly delicious. My husband traveled to Japan years ago and has talked about okonomiyaki for years, so we had to check it out. Only one problem…

I decided to do the only rational thing for a parent to do: I bribed him.

He has an upcoming birthday and pointed out a particular soccer jersey he wanted. If he was brave and tried to eat something (I spotted promising yakisoba noodles on the menu), I promised he could have the shirt as an early birthday present. Bingo. He slurped the noodles like a pro, tasted our beef ribs appetizer (declaring it ‘not bad’), and hardly shared a giant mochi donut for dessert. Success! Dinner was fun for all of us; no tears were shed, and it was an excellent opportunity to praise him for his expanding palate.

Clearly, every meal can’t be such an exchange, but I’m hoping he will gradually come around to exploring the world of food on his own.

Maybe, someday, he’ll even be a foodie.

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This article originally appeared in the November issue of Fete Lifestyle Magazine.