“I love bacon and chicharrónes, but I could never eat pork uterus,” I confess, wincing at our 60” Insignia television screen. “Foot soup doesn’t sound great, either,” my mother replies, squeamishly shaking her head. “But you’ve got to draw the line somewhere.” And I have. As a finicky eater who happens to be queer, Black and disabled, I wouldn’t touch durian, duck tongues or most of the basket items on the Food Network TV show, “Chopped.” Yet my…