Photographs by Shimin Wong I was not a picky eater growing up and would obligingly down the chewy offal; floppy sprouts; and sea sweet, still-bloody cockles my mom, grandma, and various aunties would spoon me. So it was only a few years later, when my fussy-pants baby brother came along, that food got cute—fancy shapes and unnatural colors cute. Octopus wieners and smiley-faced hard-boiled eggs cute. Whereas I had been perfectly content with standard-issue oblong crackers, my brother would wail and fling and let no crumb pass his lips that was not distractingly shaped. It was a completely unfair situation—especially since I was deemed a big girl by then, too old to eat "baby food"—as only he got the...
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