I've picked up on habits in my parents that resemble Great Depression era practices and their relationship with food is the most noticeable. Even my Dad who liked to cook as a hobby had very poor attention to detail when it came to quality. My mother basically made horribly seasoned slop and thought it was perfectly edible. My grandfather was extremely concerned with my mother having a full belly, probably at the cost of quality (a rational worldview when you've experienced starvation firsthand).

At this point, when I meet people my age who describe themselves as "picky eaters" my internal response is "Your parents were probably just bad cooks." At least the experience taught me to take responsibility for what I put into my body.