A little family history: my sister, who was born in the year of the horse (those of you who know how to do it, don't start figuring out her age now. She'd hate me for putting that on the blog), was known to behave like one when she was a kid. She ran fast, she galloped and she ate "grass". That is, when we went to restaurants, she would eat the parsley that's put there as garnish. My dad used to make fun of her and say she was a horse chomping on the stinky grass.
We now have a new generation of grass eater. We took Kira to a Thai restaurant and during the entire dinner, the only thing she ate was the two things of parsley on my plate.
Holding the parsley: