Bread and jam

I have a little story I like to read to my grandchildren about a child named Francis who would only eat bread and jam.
Nothing else.
She turned up her nose at new things and yet was alarmed when her mother stopped offering her the spaghetti and other delights the family was having for supper.
It's filled with cute little songs as well and illustrations but I like it because I identify with Frances.
I know her pain as she looks at wiggly eggs and other threatening foods.
In Spain, I faced three strange meals a day for 18 days.
That - I explained to Marc - is a lot of food hurdles to climb over, 54 if you don't count airline "meals" and snacks.
Marc was in hog heaven. He likes vinegar and Saffron and onions and squiggly creatures in strange sauces.
We had to do a lot of talking about the daily meals.
He would have a traditional English breakfast while I looked for raisins in my Muesli.
He asked the waiters for the traditional favorites while I looked for pizza.
The further into Spain we went, the harder it was to find things I can eat to fill out my meals, things like bread and ice water.
It kind of went like this:
Marc had shrimp paella with a 5-inch beady-eyed critter sitting in the middle of the platter.
He ate squid and octopus rings and clam in their shells.
Sharon: cheese pizza and Sprite
Marc: had Ox Tail soup
Sharon: cheese and ham sandwich with no dressing and Sprite
Marc: had Guzpacho soup
Sharon: potstickers and Sprite
There were a couple of highlights because the restaurant right across from our hotel was a copycat version of Texas Roadhouse with ribs.
There I had a marvelous plate of grilled vegetable two nights in a row!
At the last place we ate by Gaudi's Pedrera I had a totally splendid piece of salmon with real bread (No butter because Europe doesn't believe in butter).
On the flight home, the airline actually served a chicken and potato and spinach dish that was tasty.
But mostly, I dreaded every meal. I always had to make myself study the menu searching for something safe.
So here's some advice from a food coward.
When in Europe, take some packets of salt and pepper and something to deal with the aftertaste like Peanut M&Ms.
Or as some might advise me: grow up and deal with it.