My kids have a secret dinner-time plot. They have pledged to NEVER both like the same dish at the same time, unless it is straight up noodles and butter (no parsley, no garlic, no lemon no black pepper–just salted butter, thank you.)
Anything and everything else I cook, one of them has an issue. It smells funny, looks funny or tastes funny. And the thing is, as well as I know my kids, I can almost never guess who is going to like dinner. (I think that’s another part of the vow–keep mom guessing for maximum frustration on her part, and maximum entertainment on their part.)
Enter the chopped salad, served family style. I finely chop lettuce (hoping that some of it accidentally sticks to the spoon as my children serve themselves) and then chop up a myriad of other ingredients. I put them in distinct groups, so that if someone doesn’t feel in the mood for avocado, they can easily avoid it.