"musings"

Intentions

Hubby took me to a very fancy schmancy restaurant in the mountains for my birthday and this is the only picture my camera took.

We had a 7 course meal: the most amazing fois gras I've ever had, two things I'd never heard of before (compressed melon and dehydrated milk), wines that I'd never think to drink, a goose broth that needs to be bottled and sold as liquid gold, and a glorious sunset over the mountains. And I didn't take a single picture of it.

Don't get me wrong, it was gorgeous food. From artful but real presentations to sublime tastes to inventive techniques. It was a very memorable meal.

The memory will only live in my head, and maybe in my husband's. I did not photograph such a stellar experience because sometimes I just want my dinner to be my dinner. I have no intention of becoming a restaurant reviewer, so that documentation isn't necessary. And I have no intention of documenting everything I eat, Twitter is bad enough for that.

What I do intend to do, and this dinner practiced that intention, is to simply enjoy my food, enjoy my experience. Food writers need breaks too from thinking about writing about food. We want vacations and the only way we'll get them, since we always have to eat, is by putting down the camera and not composing sentences in our head as we chew.

Instead, I'm going to think how awesome my husband looks with the sun setting behind him and the look of joy on his face as he devours his favourite food. I'm going to pinch myself that I experienced such a luxurious treat in the midst of some stressful times. I'm going to look at my sous vide rhubarb and think it's cool, instead of wondering how they did it. I'm just going to eat.

No Pretense

I've tried to muster the enthusiasm for brisket, eggs, and the coming asparagus. I've tried to cook my family a dinner that is worthy of attention. I've tried to care to want to serve the girls more than bread with butter and honey. I've tried. I've tried. I've tried.

The truth is, I just don't have it in me.

Shopping, planning, cooking, writing, and even reading about food is at the bottom of my list of tolerable activities right now. My energy is devoted to not killing my kids when their energy gets the better of me, to answering the calls from my family when the last thing I want to do is talk, or avoiding the constant crooked finger beckoning of alcohol, sugar, and fat.

It would be easy to say that it's grief. And that would be true. My Dad, my dog, even grief over my old professional life. It's also burn out, insecurity, and the extra weight of life, life, life. I could say that the last 3 months have been killer, but so have the last 6, the last 9, hell the last 18! I could wallow in the crap that has happened from ski accidents to deaths. I could wallow, but then I really wouldn't get out of bed in the morning. And frankly, I don't actually want to wallow - it takes up too much energy.

I want to think about Happy Foods, to enjoy cooking, to get excited about being creative in the kitchen, to grab the girls and hit a farm. It just isn't there, though. I frankly don't give a rat's ass about food right now. I'm desperate for people to bring me casseroles or a pot of chili. I would do anything for my husband to decide to make Spanish Rice every single night.

On top of that, I really don't care to photograph or write about anything I do eat or cook. Hell, I posted a picture of a ridiculous can opener last week. My blog needs some quality control. Or a serious kick in the butt.

I wish I was the kind of person that could stock up on frozen meals or processed food. It really would make life easier right now. The fact that I haven't got there yet means something. It means that not all is lost. Somewhere inside is the person that I do know that I am, the person that ultimately does care whether my kids eat fruit in season and that we know our farmer.

Food blogging started as an outlet for me, a way to practice my writing and get me out of my comfort zone. Then it turned into my comfort zone. Now I'm not sure what it is. Mostly, it's a challenge and I don't mean that in a good way. But I made a commitment and for now I'm sticking with it. That commitment includes being honest and open. In doing that, however, I feel like the tone here hasn't been great. My frustration with life is certainly evident. Coming here must be like hanging out with a whining pessimistic friend - eventually it gets to you.

That doesn't mean I can suddenly pretend to be chipper and fake enthusiasm for another brownie recipe. Perhaps the asparagus will indeed snap me out of things, or maybe I'll find some fiddleheads somewhere? Or maybe time will simply allow my creativity and motivation to slowly creep back? Those girls of mine don't give us much choice. Just the other day, out of nowhere, The Monster asked me to cook some Czech food. Know any good recipes? I've got to find something for some new explorations or the middle aisles of the grocery store just might become my new home instead of the farmers' market. That gives even me a little shudder.

But I would still take any cheese covered casseroles left on my doorstep.

Picky Eaters are a Parent's Responsibility


There is no such thing as a picky eater anymore. Just selective or particular eaters. It's like the word picky got sucked up by the political correctness vacuum. Which means, of course, it must be replaced by something kinder that doesn't make a kid feel bad because they don't like green vegetables or meat that isn't chicken.

This is all simply ridiculous, I say, because ALL kids are picky eaters. The degree to which they pick and choose their food varies, but all kids are selective about what they will eat.

Take my kids, for example. More than once I've been told that my kids will eat anything, or that they are such good eaters. Um, not really folks. Sure, they love sashimi and will eat game meat even when we tell them what it is. The Monster, however, will not eat rice, mashed potatoes, the tops of broccoli, the bottoms of muffins, any filled pasta but one particular shape, and an egg any way but scrambled. It is a random day when Smilosaurus happily eats all her vegetables without any comment from me and she is rather particular about how things get cut and served.

That being said, I don't consider my kids picky. I consider them kids.

Kids are inherently fickle, most love a good routine and struggle with new challenges, and they respond to our lead like sponges wiping the kitchen counter.

I've said it before, I think picky eaters are made, not born. How we, as parents, approach food and feeding our children has more to do with your kids than anything. It starts right at the beginning when we give them their first soft purees. From the flavour to the texture we are indeed molding them. It's about more than introducing them to every taste in the book before they eat a chunk of food. It's about setting up the ritual of dinner - from the making to the eating.

When we give them their first chunks of fruit and grain we cut off the crust or the peels. We get into that habit and suddenly we have a 6 year old who doesn't eat the crusts. (Or you don't and they still don't eat the crusts, suddenly, one day after eating them for years!) We give them the choice of a rainbow selection of plates then have to deal with meltdowns when the pink one isn't clean. Before long and without intending to, many of us become short order cooks.

It sounds like I'm criticizing parents here, I understand that. I also make no apologies for it. We parents care about our kids and we should always take a critical eye to what we are doing. I include myself there too. I do think that a big part of picky eating is indeed what we parents do to create the situation.

The other thing we parents do is react to the situation. We worry that they aren't eating enough, they are eating too much of one thing, that they will never like the tops of broccoli, that somehow this makes me a bad parent... We often create a problem or think we have a picky eater because we struggle to get our kids to eat cottage cheese, not flavoured yoghurt. But this is OUR issue, not the kids.


There are great articles, resources, and tips out there to help you "break" a picky eater, banish picky eating, or even help a kid recover from picky eating habits. You can search on-line for days to get through all the tips. Seldom will you see the words Relax and Step Back. That is precisely what I suggest parents do.

Easier said than done.

Here are some tips to help you with that. These aren't about getting your kids to eat more foods or different foods, these are about accepting your kids as kids, regardless of how they eat. They are about accepting our role as parents without putting labels on them.

1. Kids don't need as much food as you think they do. One good meal every day or two can be good enough, augmented by some snacking.
2. Kids eat in cycles. One week they seemingly devour any and all food you can put in front of them, the next almost nothing.
3. Kids are fickle. One week they'll eat the crusts, another week they won't. And there is no explanation why.
4. Kids can indeed survive, in the short term, on odd diets like bread and butter with fruit.
5. You are in control of what food goes on the table. They are in control of whether they eat it or not.
6. It is perfectly okay to say no to your kids' requests for cookies for breakfast, a snack 20 minutes before dinner is on the table, and juice 24 hours a day. It is perfectly okay to ignore the tantrum that ensues when you say no.
7. Kids will not starve if they don't eat dinner. If they don't like what you are offering then don't offer them alternatives.
8. Shop, cook, and eat with your kids as much as possible.
9. Keep some guaranteed favourite meals in your back pocket and in the pantry. Pull them out on days when everyone is tired or when it's been a bit since they had a good meal.
10. Offer the best food you can. Focus on the quality of the ingredients even when they are limiting their diet.

It isn't political correctness that makes me want to lose the term picky, it's this notion picky eating is something to be tackled and eradicated like a disease. Kids are kids, and we need to respond to them like adults, not short order cooks or narrow minded politicians.

Caught in the Act

Have you ever considered boycotting the entire notion of Christmas baking? Frankly, I'm sure most of us have at one time or another. We're so busy during December and stopping to bake a couple of dozen cookies for a swap, a party, or simply to steal from the freezer for the rest of the month is the last thing we want to do.

Then we see the covers of the magazines and every single one is a Christmas tree arrangement of glittery cookies tempting us back into the grocery store for butter and sugar. Our kids/partners beg for a batch of shortbread or some esoteric treat their mom used to make. Or the guilt hits.

Every year I swear I'm not going to do it. Maybe a batch of Chewy Chocolate Gingerbread or Peppermint Bark. But THAT'S IT.

And every year I bake 3 or 4 more kinds of cookies. Then I pretty much eat them all myself. What a Ninny.

So this year I vowed I wouldn't do it. I swore to my husband and my jiggly tummy that I wouldn't even buy the butter.

Then The Monster started prepping for the concert at school. It was all about The Gingerbread Man. In fact, a reenactment of the story. She's been walking around reciting the damn thing non stop. Then she asked to bake. I suggested gingerbread men. This brought on tears, full can't catch your breath sobs out of fear that our gingerbread men would run away after we baked them. We settled on gingerbread penguins and moose. Thank goodness there are no stories about runaway moose. At least none with catchy songs attached.

I pulled out the icing sugar, sprinkles, and ridiculously fake food colourings. It was craft time/kitchen time/treat time as far as the girls were concerned. It was a messy way to kill an hour. That's how I approached it at first. Still a Ninny.

The messier it got, however, the happier we all were. Grandma was visiting and happily iced the requested purple and pink penguins. We eventually laughed at the number of sprinkles underfoot, joking that one of us was going to wipe out like it was a pile of ball bearings and we were in a cartoon. My counters are stained and my kids ate more icing than cookies. There wasn't a single tantrum, by them or me.

No longer is Christmas baking about a pile of cookies in the freezer for the guests that might pop by. It isn't even about treats to share with the neighbours over tea. It is about process, the act of making. Baking and decorating cookies with the girls is like Jackson Pollack at a canvas.

Who cares that the cookies will likely not be eaten for lack of enough icing or the wrong sprinkles? They'll make me a little more Santa like, in spirit and with my jiggle.

For the record. We used this recipe from Julie for the cookies. The only change I made is that we cooked them for 10-11 minutes so they would be a bit softer.