Trying to convince someone to love food they hate is like trying to convince someone that black is blue, or that one plus one is three. It's hard.
So, when I went to the grand opening of Miguel Maestre's restaurant, El Toro Loco in Manly (Sydney), I knew I had no choice but to eat food that my unrefined palate naturally rejected.
I watched with trepidation as I saw the food come out of the kitchen: pate, which makes me think of cat food; chorizo, that greasy, unpleasant tasting Spanish sausage and then chickpeas. I hate chickpeas.
I thought it couldn't get any worse, but then the mussels and calamari came out. Un-Australian, I know, but I'm more of a global citizen.
It was a dirty job, but it had to be done. The pate was forgettable. The chorizos were memorable. The king fish ceviche - raw king fish drizzled with lemon sauce - was refreshingly tasty; and the mussels, which were stuffed with bechamel and romosco sauces with a side of roasted Spanish capsicum, were brilliant.
And then came the black sausages. BLACK SAUSAGES. Made from a recipe that Maestro picked up while living in Scotland, the sausages were impressive - a hint of spice and the light taste of the meat made them stand out.
As Maestre started to prepare his signature dish, the paella, everyone crowded around the open kitchen, waiting in anticipation.
After one bite, I realised why his paella was famous amongst his fans - the sauce, rich flavours and meat worked well together.
And for dessert came a dish of churros, a recipe which took Maestre 10 years to perfect. The churros, which had a hard outer layer contrasting with a soft and creamy centre and a drizzle of milk chocolate, were nothing short of magnificent.
Cava champagne, Spanish beer, sangria, mojitos and wine were in abundance. In between meals, men dressed as matadors came around with a porron, a funnel filled with red wine which was poured into people's mouths - no one seemed to care that there was the possibility of getting red wine stains on their shirts.
After the culinary tasting adventure, I came face to face with the man himself.
Maestre has starred in two successful television shows viewed in over a 100 countries, and I realised the core of his appeal, why people love him and why people were booking in advance to get a seat at his sold out venue.
It is because Maestre represents what most of us want to be: successful, passionate, and in love with life.
In two days, Maestre had accomplished more than most of us by getting married to the love of his life on January 16 and launching his own restaurant on January 17.
But, he admitted, it has been a hard journey and there is still a lot of hard work to be done in the next few months.
"I cook, I smile; I cook, I smile. I don't sleep," he jokingly said about his gruelling one hundred-plus weekly work hours.
"But, I love it. It is a very sensual experience. In the morning I look at the crustaceans and I want to give them love. I look at the bread and I want to give it some love. I cook for my wife and it is all with love, and that is why my restaurant is going to be successful.
"You can be the Pope or Prince William or a man in a business suit, or a person wearing daggy clothes, and I will love you all the same. I will peel all those potatoes with love, and serve you with a smile," he added.
With all the long hours and lack of sleep, I couldn't figure out where Maestre got all his energy from. Imagine giving a kid three Red Bulls, and you have Maestre. One second you see him running around talking to his patrons, and then the next he is behind the kitchen counter cooking.
"I think I work on adrenaline," he revealed. "It is like when I did the bull running in Spain: I couldn't stop because the adrenaline kept me going. When I am at work, the uncertainty of it all makes me excited and that excitement gives me an adrenaline rush. I am like a crazy bull... 'El Toro Loco'," Maestre said.
With many Spanish restaurants in Sydney, I asked him why he thought his restaurant would stand out from the rest and he looked at me, smiled and said, "I have got originality. When you look at the people here, not caring about ruining their shirts with the porron, dancing their own version of the salsa on the dance floor, socialising and enjoying their food, I know they will come back. I can see it in their smiles. I am not only selling them food, I am selling them a memory."