I'll never forget an essay I read many years ago by a
professional foodie in which he described the highlight of both his parental
and culinary careers: his young daughter, while dining with him in a
restaurant, turned to him and said, "Daddy, this chicken tastes just like
frog legs." I wish now I had noted the author's name, so I could track him
down and chew him out for creating what I now understand was a wildly
unrealistic set of expectations.
It was all so promising at the beginning. My oldest son,
Jonah, was a wonderful eater when he was a baby. At one, it seemed there was
nothing he didn't like: dim sum, asparagus, guacamole. Then he began to refuse
things he had previously savored. My husband Andy and I joked about which foods
had been "voted off the island" that week. After Jonah was diagnosed
with autism, we assumed his extremely limited food preferences were
part of his disorder. While it's true that many children on the autistic
spectrum have restricted diets, our next two daughters followed the same
pattern of acceptance then rejection as they grew from babies into toddlers.
My husband and I joked about which foods
had been "voted off the island" that week.
By
the time my sister Keri, her husband Matt and their two young sons moved in
with us a year and a half ago, I had fallen into the habit of feeding my children some
permutation of chicken, macaroni and cheese, hot dogs and fruit almost every night. Later, I would eat a late, grown-up
dinner with Andy when he came home from work.
I wasn't proud of it. I never thought I'd be one of those moms who bought a little peace with
over-processed, unnaturally colored fare. But what were my options? Force the kids to eat the "adult" dinner I'd
prepared? Send them to bed hungry?
Neither choice particularly appealed to me. So I consulted my pediatrician, who
told us that the
kids could meet many nutritional needs through fruit. And instead of dwelling on all the
nitrates and refined flour my children were consuming, I focused on the
critical protein and fat, which I had read were especially important for
developing brains.
Still, I could guess what Keri and Matt, both chefs by
training, thought of this diet: Not our boys. I'm sure they assumed Declan and
Ronan would be of the frog-legs-eating ilk — I certainly did. If ever
children were bred to have broad palates, it's them. Their parents have a
combined twenty years of restaurant experience. They make their own sushi, and
they made their own baby food. When we go out to dinner, Matt can be counted on
to order the most exotic dish on the menu, from sweetbreads to blood sausage to
fried crickets.
©2008 Amy S.F. Lutz and Nerve Media
About the Author
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Amy S.F. Lutz's work has appeared in dozens of
literary journals, including Cream City Review, The American
Poetry Review, Puerto del Sol, and Mid-American Review. She and
her husband have five children. She and her sister chronicle their two-family household in the blog whoelsewantstoliveinmyhouse.com |
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