My mum was a weird mixture: kind of a feeder (ie you MUST clear your plate) but also a spectacularly bad cook. Evenings of liver poached in a casserole of water (I kid you not) until it had the appearance of black leather outside and the texture (and possibly taste) of green suede inside. We had to eat it. With burnt rice. Ack! She also (memorably) once boiled cubes of Spam with mushrooms for a couple of hours. I was reading 1984 at the time and thought she'd done it deliberately (Winston describes a meal very like that in the book) but no, it was her idea of a nutritious dinner, with boiled, translucent, wangy cabbage. Also for years I thought I hated chicken, because I'd only ever had it so overcooked it was like shredded string macrame.
Cooking kind of skipped a generation in our family, as her mum (my Oma) was a fabulous (very traditional) cook. I LOVE to cook as well (so being on a vlcd is sometimes v hard for me because no tasting of food while cooking :-( ) Is it any wonder that my sister and I developed very back-handed associations with food?
I am being very careful to give my two girls a variety of foods to choose from and never force them to finish if they are full. Always get complimented on the fact that neither of them is 'picky'. They will try anything!