"No carrots please"

One of Evie's most read book is the "Tawny Scrawny Lion" who became "fat as butter and sleek as silk" eating carrot stew.
"I want carrot soup" she said one day, after a reading.
I just about jumped with joy at the proclamation. For the next meal, I eagerly and lovingly and made a big pot of chicken noodle soup with oodles of carrots.
When it was time for dinner, we sat the little girl down, I presented her the soup with a flourish, and waited to see her response like any new chef facing their first critical review.
She looked at it, merely looked at it, and said, very politely and calmly, "no, thank you."
Behind her, my pent up breath became a sigh, and I just about slid to the floor in frustration like a deflated balloon.
"But it's carrot soup! There's chicken and noodle, and you like them!" I said, trying not to plead yet, and hoping to entice her with a spoonful of a bit of everything (that I spent so much time bending over the cutting board to chop up finely). The red and green and creamy white of the ingredients look so lovely together. The little girl turned her head aside, closed her eyes, and said firmly "I don't like it."
So what was supposed to be a peaceful meal in which she discovers the wonders of vegetable became the typical battle with me insisting that she must at least try one bite before she pushes the bowl away, and her with her mouth pressed firmly into a firm line.
Threats were issued, bribes were considered, and tears flowed. In the end, I had to deliberately keep my voice low, or else I knew I'd be flying off the roof. In the end, the little girl's stubbornness won out, and she was sent to bed without supper or dessert. (Before anyone calls child service, you must know that she is of healthy weight, well fed when she deigns to eat, and is in no way malnourished.)
Dejected as I was with her refusal to eat, I managed to see the bright side of things: at least her manner was intact, even when she's being difficult.
Days later, I shared the story with my mom, who lives in Taiwan, over the phone.
This is not the first of the little girl's picky eater stories. This time, my mother couldn't take it anymore, and, with good intentions, admonished me for not trying harder. "You should at least half force-feed her," she said.
Force feeding a child is not uncommon among Taiwanese families. The goal is to get the child to be healthy and plump. I still remembered clearly how my mom would chase my sister or brother around the house to get a spoon of food into their mouth for more then an hour. I've also seen a friend forcing food into her daughter's mouth so much so that her baby girl threw it all up afterward.
With my history of issues with weight and eating, I especially want my child to have a healthy relationship with food. I want her to discover the joy of eating and the fun of trying new foods because she wants to, not because I'm breathing over her shoulder brandishing threats or dangling baits. I don't want food to become another power struggle either between us, or within her. All I can do now is to hold on to my "one bite, then tell me you don't like it" rule, and continue to redirect conversations with my mom when it touches upon eating. Just another act of juggling, no?