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How to gross out my kid

May 20, 2005 | Category: Mother to the First Power



Have I ever mentioned that I cook? I am not great at it, but I love to do it and someday I am going to go to culinary school. In the meantime, Alton Brown is my love object - although I am ok with sharing him.

Have I ever mentioned that Bear hates to eat? He is incredibly picky not only about the food he'll put in his mouth but also about the food he even is willing to look at or smell.

Wednesday night, CD was late coming home and it was just Bear and me for dinner. So I made him Dinner #2 (Kraft Macaroni and Cheese) in the rotation of the 5 dinners this boy will eat (the others are: ramen soup, meatballs from IKEA, orange chicken from Panda Express, and pancakes and sausage).

Myself? I had bruschetta.

I cut up the remains of a loaf of french bread on the bias and threw the pieces under the broiler. Then I "whir-whirred" (in a clean coffee grinder) half a tomato, a quarter yellow onion, some basil leaves, olive oil, garlic, salt and pepper. Then I flipped the bread to toast the other side. Chopped up the other half of the tomato and stirred it in with the whirred-up mixture. Then I took the bread out of the oven, and spooned the mixture onto each piece. Shaved some romano on top (cuz, really, cheese makes everything yummy). Stuck it back under the broiler for about 2 minutes. Voila.

Rinsed the grinder. Put my meal on a plate, put his meal in a bowl, stuck it all on a tray with things like spoons and napkins and glasses of milk and presented the fine repast to Mr Snarkypants.

Who wrinkled his nose and sighed.

Bear: I can't eat now. My tummy hurts.

Me (Sputtering): Why?! It's your favorite Mac 'n Cheeese. I followed the directions just like Daddy.

Bear (A little whiny): Yeah, but you made my nose hurt. 'Cuz you made stinky food. AGAIN.

Me (Outraged): Bruschetta is NOT stinky food!

Bear: Mommy, just don't cook stuff, OK?

Me: Then what am I supposed to eat?

Bear (After a long moment of thought): Fruit gummies. And peanut butter. And you can have some of my Mac N Cheese after I'm full.

So we ate on opposite sides of the room. With him pinching his nose and making faces at me when he thought I wasn't looking. Afterwards, we made up and cleared dishes and made chocolate pudding together for desert. 'Cuz by then the "stink" of my food had settled down enough for him to handle being in the kitchen. That and the lure of running the mixer and licking the bowl.

P.S.: Funniest caption of the week: HERE!


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Comments


That's such a cute story!!

Posted by: Eyes for Lies on May 23, 2005 09:32 AM


Wow.

D is an incredibly picky eater, and clearly reacts to the texture of things as well as the taste. And he often screams in protest if we insist on putting a bite of what we're eating on his plate (even if we don't make him actually taste it). But he's never tried telling us that WE'RE not allowed to eat something because he doesn't like it.

I guess I should count my blessings.

Posted by: Elizabeth on May 23, 2005 08:37 AM


It's good to know I'm not the only one with a picky eater. My son lives on Dinonuggets and ravioli (Franco-American, no substitutes).

He's also got this really weird "string" thing. I think it started with strings on his bananas. I can kind of understand that. But now it's taken on a life of its own. There are strings on just about everything, and I have to pick them off before he'll eat anything. He's going to drive his preschool teachers CRAZY. Better them than me!

Posted by: notdonnareed on May 20, 2005 07:23 PM


I love Alton Brown too!! Cooking, science and clever word play--what more can a girl ask for?

Posted by: Angie on May 20, 2005 05:42 PM


Yeah, the recipe looked quite yummy. Still, what Bear proposed sounded better. Who is it who does not love the fruited gummy?

Posted by: RP on May 20, 2005 05:02 PM


I read this post and what stuck out was bruschetta. I love that stuff like it was gold. Now I'm starving and think I'll pick up the fixins at the commissary tonight.

Posted by: rachel on May 20, 2005 03:52 PM