I’m used to finicky kids.

Mellie, 5, doesn’t like tomato sauce or chocolate, but she and her 3-year-old sister, Paige, can devour a plate of fried calamari (sans hot pepper rings) in record time. Ren, also 3, and Elias, 5,  like Nonni‘s turkey soup one day, then push it away the next, saying they prefer the canned stuff.

And then there’s 17-year-old Nicholas who won’t eat anything with ricotta cheese but will vacuum up 2 pounds of cocktail shrimp like George Costanza in “Seinfeld.” (Remember ‘Hey, George, the ocean called. They’re running outta shrimp?’ That’s my nephew.)

So imagine my surprise when a 1-year-old tot from Wisconsin, joined our Back Bay Boston Foodie Tour the other day with her parents and tasted EVERYTHING.

The Tiny Cheesehead sampled Mother Juice‘s watermelon concoction, a bite of Roxy’s Grilled Cheese‘s Mighty Rib sandwich, cubes of raw milk cheeses at Bacco, freshly-made burrata at the Copley Square Farmers’ Market, homemade crackers at Turner Fisheries and lobster popover at Towne Stove & Spirits. And she got downright giddy at Georgetown Cupcakes along with the rest of us.

Did I mention she was a year old? Last week, we had 16 high school kids, 95 per cent of whom wouldn’t eat tomatoes which put on a damper on two of our stops.

The only time the baby fussed was on the walk between food stops! Finally, I had to ask her mom, “Is there anything she won’t eat?” After noodling that over for a second, she finally said, “EGGS!”

“I’ve scrambled them with butter, poached them, and made them all kinds of ways but she won’t eat them,” said frustrated Mom.

I knew I liked this kid, as I am anti-ovum myself. As I have mentioned in a previous post, I can’t be in the same room with egg salad. And I get very judgmental about people who own portable deviled eggs carriers (just ask my mother).

The toddler’s mom asked me with a look of desperation — as we walked to Flour to sample a lamb sandwich — if I thought her wee one would grow out of her egg-loathing phase.

I told her I never did, but that didn’t mean her little lady couldn’t love a deviled egg one day. Until then, I said, enjoy sharing your lobster popover…