There was no problem. She was just Abby. And more to the point, she was not Phoebe. I was doing the same thing the oversimplifying pediatrician had done. Comparing the girls’ baby books is one thing, but comparing two babies is another thing entirely. Abby was her own person. Abby was the house comedian. Abby was an Olympic-level dollhouse player. And Abby, sweet, charming Abby, was a freaking nightmare when it came to eating what Phoebe (and later, what her parents) ate for dinner. If ever there existed an open-and-shut case exhibiting nature triumphing over nurture, it was mealtime with Phoebe and Abby.
I’m not going to tell you that we solved the problem immediately, but I do want to say that just because she was a different person from her sister, a different person who often demanded a different parenting style (how is it that a mom’s raised voice can cause tears from one child and giggles from the other?) didn’t mean I was going to capitulate to our tiny terrorist. I can still picture the way Abby would reject food we’d place in front of her: She’d drum her fingers on the high chair tray and slowly turn her head to the side, raising her chin slightly as she did so. It was nearly impossible to keep my cool in these situations, which, as I now know, is exactly why she did it. People ask us all the time how we managed to get through those tough years with her. The short answer is that we did what everyone does and what you have to do: We just kept plowing ahead. But when I look back, there were several other factors that might have helped turn her around. I like to think of these factors as rules for not losing your mind when you are living with and cooking for a picky eater.
How to Triumph over a Tiny Table Terrorist (or, How Not to Lose Your Mind When Cooking for a Picky Eater)
1. Hang back. This was a lesson learned the hard way. When Abby was on the Great Food Strike of 2004, this is what we heard from the poor souls who happened to come visit during mealtime. Don’t worry so much. She’ll eat when she’s hungry! Why are you making yourself so crazy? She’ll eventually get too hungry to refuse. Wow, did these comments make me angry. Even though experts the world over warned against turning feeding time into a power struggle, I dare you to just hang back and relax when your kid eats one bite of pear over the course of an entire month. It was impossible not to worry. It was impossible not to chase her around the house with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. One night we thought we had her right where we wanted her: starving and strapped into her high chair at the kitchen table, a piece of crispy pan-fried white fish flaked into little bites on her little melamine plate. I started feeding her and was astounded when she kept opening up her mouth for more. Andy and I looked at each other, too nervous to say anything for fear of jinxing our good fortune. We should have known better. After about five voracious bites, we realized she was just storing the fish in her cheeks like a squirrel—she somehow knew it would be more dramatic to spit it out all at once than reject the fish in pieces.
Couldn’t she see how frustrated we were? Why would she do this to her poor parents who were disintegrating right before her eyes? Because, to a sixteen-month-old, I imagine this sight was probably very entertaining. And also: Because she could. When we finally stopped obsessing over Abby’s eating, we did so more out of sheer exhaustion than because of any clear-headed decision-making process. As soon as we let go of our anxiety, she was forced to come up with new ways to torture us—I mean entertain herself—and things gradually become more pleasant at feeding time. To this day, she’s not a quantity girl (unless we are talking Japanese food, in which case she eats us all under the table), but she will eat almost anything if it’s presented the right way. (See The Marketing Plan.)
2. Enlist them. You’ve no doubt heard from many an expert that if you cook with your child, he or she will be more invested in the meal and therefore more likely to eat that meal with gusto. When the girls were older—about five and six—I would discover the wisdom behind these words. But at this stage, when I was dealing with a two-and three-year-old, I couldn’t think of anything less appealing than enlisting help from the kids when it came time to measure the oil or stir the batter. (Stirring and pouring are the only tasks toddlers are capable of, and even these require strict supervision while you are busy burning your garlic.) My feeling was that enlisting the kids’ help with cooking chicken was ensuring that 100 percent of dinnertime would be frustrating instead of just the usual 50 percent in which you’d be struggling to convince the kid to eat. We preferred lower maintenance methods of personal investment. Like grocery shopping. We found that when they came with us to Trader Joe’s and were given the task of picking out their peppers or whole wheat tortillas or Soyaki sauce (we call this “fairy dust” in our house because it will transform any food into an edible one for Abby), that was investment enough. It also helped to show them cookbooks with beautiful photographs. If they had a sense of what a new dish would look like before it was set before them, it took a little of the anxiety out of the equation. It was even better when we let them point to the photo of the meal they wanted to eat for dinner—that way, it made them accountable, that is, they shouldered the blame (or accepted the credit) when it came time to reject it or eat it.
3. Build Their Adventure Muscles. This lesson was the happy byproduct of an essay I wrote for Cookie called “30 Days, 30 Dinners.” I wrote the story in the middle of a particularly brutal winter when a confluence of factors (too much work, not enough sunshine) resulted in a depressing stretch of uninspired dinners. After noticing how many one-word meal descriptions I was recording in the diary—Cutlets, Pasta, Pizza—I decided to break the cycle with a mission called Operation 30 Days. The goal was to try to cook a brand-new dinner every night for a month—brand-new to me and Andy, and brand-new to the girls. If, at the end of thirty days, we only added six keepers to the list, I didn’t care. At least we’d be exposing them to new things, and, more important, giving our dinners a shot of much-needed inspiration.
For the kids, we spun the project as a Big Fun Experiment (!!!) with only one rule: They had to try a single bite of something new every night. And if they stopped at one bite? No problem! Every meal was built around one food the girls liked, so we knew we could always extract, de-sauce, or decontaminate individual ingredients to their liking. (See Rule 4: Deconstruct.)
The next month was spent shaking off all the dust that had settled around our dinner ritual: We began texting back and forth about lamb chop preparation during the commute home (a ritual that would get us through many more dinners in the future); we busted out the rolling pin and enlisted the girls’ help in shaping homemade tortillas; we broke through Phoebe’s soup barrier with a fifteen-minute fish stew; we discovered that kids cannot only defy all expectations and enjoy Brussels sprouts, but that they are also capable of pounding their utensils on the table demanding we serve Brussels sprouts to them every night from that night on . . . pinky promise Mommy?
Forming a meal into letters and words also helps the effort!
In the end, out of thirty recipes, only about five of the dishes became part of our regular rotation—but the meals themselves were almost beside the point. For Andy and me, the process of seeking out the best recipe for shrimp curry or rolling out homemade tortillas for fish tacos was crucial for getting us excited about cooking dinner again—for putting the love back in the love story. And for the girls, trying new dishes was crucial for flexing what I now call their well-developed adventure muscles. In other words, it was great that the experiment ignited an enduring love for lamb chops, but it was even greater that by the end of the month, they were approaching the table open to the idea of trying something new—expecting to try something new. Four years later, as the children of food bloggers (“Operation 365 Days a Year”) they do this now without thinking. Though, in the case of quinoa, polenta, and mushrooms, not always without complaining.
Lamb Chops
Total time: 10 minutes
3 pounds single-cut lamb chops (or about 3 per kid; 4 per grown-up)
Salt and pepper
/> Olive oil
Bring the lamb chops to room temperature and sprinkle liberally with salt and pepper. Heat a stovetop grill or a cast-iron pan brushed with a small amount of olive oil over medium-high heat. Cook, turning fairly frequently, for a total of 5 to 6 minutes.
Chicken with Bacon-y Brussels Sprouts
Total time: 35 minutes
2 strips bacon
4 to 6 chicken breasts (about 1¼ pounds), pounded to ¼-inch thickness (see sidebar), and seasoned with salt and pepper
2 tablespoons olive oil
½ onion, chopped
Salt and pepper
About ½ pound Brussels sprouts, trimmed and roughly chopped (if it’s easy to shred them in a food processor, this works too)
½ cup chicken broth
In a medium skillet set over medium heat, fry the bacon until crispy. Remove the bacon from the heat and drain a little of the fat from the pan.
Turn up the heat to medium-high and brown the chicken, about 2 minutes on each side. (It does not have to cook through.) Remove from the pan.
Add the oil, onion, and salt and pepper and cook until the onion is soft, about 3 minutes. Add the Brussels sprouts, toss with the onions, and cook about 1 minute. Nestle the chicken breasts in the vegetables, add the broth, and bring to a boil. Once it boils, reduce the heat to a simmer, cover, and cook another 10 minutes, until chicken is cooked through. Crumble the bacon on top.
Orecchiette with Sausage and Crispy Broccoli
Total time: 35 minutes
3½ cups broccoli florets, trimmed
4 tablespoons olive oil, plus more to taste
Kosher salt and pepper to taste
1 pound orecchiette
2 links sweet Italian sausage, casings removed
½ cup grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
1 tablespoon butter
4 heaping tablespoons ricotta (optional)
Preheat the oven to 425°F.
Line a baking dish with foil, add the broccoli, and using a spoon, toss with 3 tablespoons of the oil and salt and pepper. Roast for 15 minutes, or until broccoli looks crispy but not completely brown.
Meanwhile, make the pasta according to the package directions. Strain the orecchiette, reserving ½ cup of the pasta liquid.
Add remaining tablespoon oil to a large skillet set over medium-high heat. Brown the sausage, breaking it up with a fork, until cooked, 5 to 7 minutes. Add half of the reserved pasta water to the skillet and turn heat to high; cook, stirring, until it looks emulsified and saucy. Add the pasta, Parmesan cheese, and butter to the skillet and toss with tongs until everything is evenly distributed, adding more pasta water to loosen as necessary. Divide into four bowls and top with crispy broccoli—if your kids allow it—a little more freshly grated Parmesan cheese, and a dollop of ricotta if you are feeling indulgent.
Salmon Salad, deconstructed.
4. Deconstruct. How many exposures to a new piece of food do those experts say a kid needs before she tries it? Twenty? Twenty-five? Thirty? Whatever the number, we’d regularly exceed it with Abby. She’d turn her nose up at the avocado and shredded cheddar and sour cream when it came time to top her chicken tacos. But there was always something on the table that we knew she’d eat—in this case the chicken and the hard taco shell, separately—no questions asked. Because of Abby, we were forced to develop a style of eating called “Deconstructed Dinner,” which I write about all the time on my blog and which saved our asses (or at least our dinners) during Abby’s stubborn phase. This is not rocket science, it’s exactly what it sounds like: You take a favorite meal like Salmon Salad and serve it in its individual components (as shown in photo) so the kids can pick what they like before any green specks or offensive sauces get mixed in. This helped tremendously on the nights when we attempted to sit down together, which we were only attempting on the weekends at this point. Not only did deconstructing allow the rest of us to eat our dinners the way they were “supposed” to be eaten, but it showed Abby the way her dinner was supposed to be eaten. Were there times that we just boiled a Hebrew National for her while all of us ate our cobb salads? Of course—a lot of times—but we stuck to our guns enough for her to slowly expand her repertoire. Does she inhale duck curry like Phoebe? Does she, like Phoebe, literally cheer “yay” when I announce that we’re having black bean burritos? Will she ever eat as enthusiastically and widely as Phoebe? Who knows. Probably not. And anyway, what fun would that be?
Taco Soup
To make this soup for Abby, we would remove the chicken from the soup and put it on a plate with chips, cheese, and avocado even though she rarely touched the avocado. (But we could add a tick in the Exposure column.) To make this even faster, you can use rotisserie chicken. Just decrease simmering time to 10 minutes and add shredded meat during the last 5 minutes. (Then use the chicken carcass to make homemade stock!) Total time: 35 minutes
2 chicken boneless breasts (about ¾ pound), rinsed and patted dry
1 tablespoon canola or vegetable oil
½ onion, chopped
1 garlic clove, minced
½ jalapeño pepper, minced
Salt and pepper
4 cups chicken broth
1 dried chile pepper
1 15-ounce can hominy (found in the international section of your supermarket)
Juice from 1 lime (about 2 tablespoons)
Various toppings: tortilla chips, avocado chunks, shredded cheddar cheese (the cheese should not be considered optional)
Brown the chicken in a medium saucepan, about 2 minutes on each side. (It does not have to be cooked through.) To the same pan, add oil and sauté the onion, garlic, jalapeño pepper, and salt and pepper over medium heat for about 3 minutes.
Add the broth, chile pepper, and hominy and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer for 15 minutes. Remove the chicken from the pot and shred using two forks. Add the shreds back to the pot and simmer for another 5 minutes.
Ladle the soup servings into bowls, then squeeze lime into each bowl add and the toppings.
Grilled Chicken Mediterranean Plate
In the summer, if we’re grilling chicken, we always make twice as much so we can have this quick-to-assemble dinner the next night. It’s healthy, flavorful, and, like all great summer meals, does not require an oven, stovetop, or toaster. You can also use a store-bought rotisserie chicken. Total time: 5 minutes
4 whole wheat pocketless pita rounds
1 16-ounce container hummus (I like original creamy—none of that weird jalapeño or sun-dried tomato action)
1½ cups cooked chicken, shredded or chopped
1 cup crumbled feta
1 Japanese cucumber (the kind that come shrink-wrapped), chopped and lightly salted
Fresh herbs, such as thyme or oregano
Olive oil
Freshly ground black pepper
Place the pita rounds on four separate plates. (Or, if you have an Abby, tear the pitas into pieces.) Spread a generous layer of hummus on each pita and top with chicken, feta, cucumber, the herbs, a drizzle of oil, and pepper.
Two-bowl Chopped Salads
This is not so much a recipe as it is a strategy. The idea is that you chop your favorite salad ingredients up into a fine dice, and distribute them among two bowls as you go: “the Definitely Bowl” (to hold everything you know the kids will eat) and “the Maybe Bowl” (to hold anything with deal-breaker potential for the kids). This is a go-to meal for us in the summer when the vegetables are so fresh it kills you to waste a single bite. The key to the chopped salad is, not surprisingly, the fine chop. You want to be able to experience as many different tastes in one bite as possible. Another good rule to keep in mind: You should aim to include something sweet (like fruit), something salty (like feta or bacon), and something crunchy (celery, snap peas, sunflower seeds). Play around with combinations until you find the ones you like.
Set two medium bowls on the counter. Designate one the Maybe Bowl and one
the Definitely Bowl. Chop any of the following ingredients and distribute them into the appropriate bowl. Toss with the Basic Vinaigrette after everyone has been served.
Tomatoes
Corn off the cob
Kale, destemmed, boiled for 2 minutes, then drained
Shredded poached chicken
Cooked bacon
Sugar snap peas
Peppers
Green beans, boiled for 2 minutes
Bacon
Hard-boiled eggs
Asparagus
Avocados
Shallots or scallions
Fruit, such as apples or peaches
Nuts, such as walnuts, almonds, sunflower seeds
Cheese, such as feta, blue, Parmesan, Pecorino, cheddar
Fresh herbs, such as chives, thyme, mint, cilantro, basil, parsley
Basic Vinaigrette
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
4 tablespoons red or white wine vinegar
Squeeze of honey
Squeeze of fresh lemon
Salt and pepper
Chopped fresh herbs, such as chives, parsley, dill, thyme
½ cup good-quality olive oil
Whisk together all of the ingredients.
Riffs
For Creamy Dressing: Add a tablespoon of mayonnaise.
For Balsamic Vinaigrette: Replace red wine vinegar with balsamic vinegar.
For Garlic Vinaigrette: Add 1 teaspoon minced garlic.
For Citrus Vinaigrette: Replace the wine vinegar with 1 tablespoon each of fresh lime juice and fresh orange juice, and up the lemon juice to 1 tablespoon.
Dinner: A Love Story Page 13
