I am a believer. For all the hullabaloo surrounding Jessica Seinfeld's new book, and the controversey forthcoming, I have initiated my own deceptive dining at the Kirkland home.
After a brisk afternoon of sledding and shoveling, the boys were starving. Yukon is away at a meeting, so I took the opportunity to experiment with dinner.
Bear, in particular, is a picky eater's picky eater. This child who used to eat every flavor of baby food and beg for more has transitioned into a mini pub-grubber, showing a preference for those kid-pleasing favs over anything green, yellow, red, well, you get the picture.
My sister in law gave me the Book for Christmas, and I was impressed by the variety of options for hiding nutrition in such a surreptitious manner. Avocado in chocolate pudding? Spinach in a brownie? Impossible!
Tonight I started slow; boiled the mac n' cheese with my back to the children, smooshing up the squash behind their backs. Stirred in the cheesy powder (at least it is Annie's) and milk, and then tossed in the squash before the boys could lift their heads from what they were doing.
I used an interesting variety of squash, a hybrid of spaghetti/delicata, not stringy though. I stirred and stirred until the cheese made a nice, saucy hiding place for the yellow squash.
Serving it up took courage; I tried not to stare as they took bites. Kids are so damned alert sometimes to any unusual dinnertime behavior. But I couldn't help it. Should this work, my world of nutritional deception would be wide open.
Wolf, intent on a book (reading only allowed at table when Dad is away), ate quickly and didn't even notice anything. Duh. Bear, on the other hand, ate like a horse, shoveling in spoonful after spoonful. He even had seconds.
It was all I could do not to dance on the table. By God, I got him to eat a vegetable! Copy, schmopy, vegatable plagarism, call it what you will.
Mission accomplished.
After a brisk afternoon of sledding and shoveling, the boys were starving. Yukon is away at a meeting, so I took the opportunity to experiment with dinner.
Bear, in particular, is a picky eater's picky eater. This child who used to eat every flavor of baby food and beg for more has transitioned into a mini pub-grubber, showing a preference for those kid-pleasing favs over anything green, yellow, red, well, you get the picture.
My sister in law gave me the Book for Christmas, and I was impressed by the variety of options for hiding nutrition in such a surreptitious manner. Avocado in chocolate pudding? Spinach in a brownie? Impossible!
Tonight I started slow; boiled the mac n' cheese with my back to the children, smooshing up the squash behind their backs. Stirred in the cheesy powder (at least it is Annie's) and milk, and then tossed in the squash before the boys could lift their heads from what they were doing.
I used an interesting variety of squash, a hybrid of spaghetti/delicata, not stringy though. I stirred and stirred until the cheese made a nice, saucy hiding place for the yellow squash.
Serving it up took courage; I tried not to stare as they took bites. Kids are so damned alert sometimes to any unusual dinnertime behavior. But I couldn't help it. Should this work, my world of nutritional deception would be wide open.
Wolf, intent on a book (reading only allowed at table when Dad is away), ate quickly and didn't even notice anything. Duh. Bear, on the other hand, ate like a horse, shoveling in spoonful after spoonful. He even had seconds.
It was all I could do not to dance on the table. By God, I got him to eat a vegetable! Copy, schmopy, vegatable plagarism, call it what you will.
Mission accomplished.
2 comments:
Hallelujah! Congratulations! I won't let your little secret get out! Bring on the spinach! :)
Would you please come cook for me? I am such a uncreative mom that I just give the non-veggie eaters theirs first (as in "ala cart")and they don't get the rest of the meal until every bit is gone. Nothing as motivating for mine as watching their brothers and sisters getting ready for seconds on chicken before they even get firsts.
Post a Comment