Here’s a short story I wrote a while ago that I think is pretty amazing. I’m kind of surprised I wrote it.
It seems as though whatever I make, or do, I can’t get my child, Anthony, to eat. Rachel Ray’s thirty-minute meals for kids are no match to the critic of a child who can determine a dish’s goodness just by its looks and smell. Every five minutes he’d poke it with a fork attempting to familiarize its texture with only five acceptable dishes one could ever be faced with – pizza, chicken nuggets, grilled cheese, macaroni and cheese, and spaghetti and meatballs.
These five spectacular dishes can’t come from anywhere. They must be made with the proper care from a person who puts a pinch of heart, soul and love. Actually, heart, soul and love are three ingredients from the devil to my child eyes which he shall never encounter. What Anthony really cares about is where it came from, how it’s made and what’s in it. Pizza must be delivered from Little Caesars and Little Caesars alone. The local pizza joint that offers better flavor over looks is unacceptable. There’s no character that is loved by children and detested by adults on the local pizza box. Fortunately Little Caesars is less than half the price of good pizza, which leaves me complaining less.
Chicken Nuggets must be nuggets. Occasionally, it may be called chicken fingers. The moment the word fingers come in contact with chicken, I’m sentenced one hour and thirty-five minutes of convincing Anthony that they’re the same thing, two minutes heating it back up then another hour convincing him again. Eventually he’ll taste it. But by that time all its crispy texture, moist buttermilk flavor, and goldenness is long gone. That’s when I’ll hear Anthony say it’s dry… and soggy too.
Grilled cheese, mac and cheese, and spaghetti and meatballs are my go to dish for creativity. As long as I incorporate the following- grilled cheese and mac and cheese must have yellow-orange cheddar cheese incorporated in the dish to hide any unfamiliar colors. Apparently, using white cheddar in grilled cheese or mac and cheese is against the law. Fortunately, this Food Bureau of investigation lacks the ability to detect ingredients that is blind by the eye. Since everyone loves pepperoni and bacon, I’m free to experiment with that as well.
Thank god to whoever invented pasta sauce, anything, and I mean anything could be smuggled into this red goodness and no one would ever know. Feel like Anthony doesn’t eat enough veggies? No problem, blend that green goodness in there. Not feeling beef today? use sausage instead. Is turning the meat into a perfectly round ball a job and a half? You’re out of luck. Go back into the kitchen and work that rolling magic.
At least he’s eating something; I know a lot of parents who child is on a strict candy diet. My child rarely eats candy. I know… hallelujah (I personally think it’s because it’s never in the house. The only time he ever see’s candy is at parties or special events. I guess my child thinks it’s only meant to be eaten those times. It doesn’t exist beyond those days). But only eating a hand full of dishes is unacceptable. In my book of rules, that is against the law. But my rules are just illegal opinions compared to the dictatorship Anthony runs. Maybe I should drop my weapons of creativity, turn myself in, vow to never commit treason again, get charge thirteen plus year’s imprisonment, and hopefully get out early on good behavior. Maybe I should yell at him, cook whatever I want and threaten to let him rot there until he finishes his food. That’ll work.
Or maybe, this is just a challenge every adult faces. Maybe it’s all a never-ending game. Maybe in order to win the game I must keep experimenting with my creativity until I discover my entire child’s likes and dislike. Maybe Anthony’s critique will change overtime. Maybe, sooner or later, what I like and what I dislike will come in harmony with Anthony.
Tomorrow I’ll make crab stuffed ravioli and call it squared spaghetti with tomato sauce.
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