- Got it all over his face. He’s really Sari.
Because Brian and I absolutely love to eat – we’ve been lucky to shove delicacies down our gullets at some truly fantastic restaurants over the years, partially through my work and partially because we forgo countless other hobbies to spend money dining out. And we really love to eat adventurously.
For us, Sunday morning dim sum is a religion. We plan our vacations based around food; Barcelona was pretty and all, but I was mainly interested in the razor clams at Cal Pep. New Mexico skiing? Screw it. In Taos, I went straight for a simmering vat of red chile at the Old Blinking Light. I’ve fought seagulls for fried clams and stood in line for three hours just for a snappy gobble of Flo’s relish-smeared hot dogs in Maine. On a recent trip to Montreal, I performed all sorts of mental calisthenics just to recall my college French and pleaded with no fewer than five hapless pedestrians for directions to Chinatown.
Yet we’ve been uncharacteristically cautious with Andy’s diet. Both of us have an irrational fear that he’ll choke on anything that isn’t a nursing home-ish puree. So he’s been eating vegetables designed for denture-wearers, with the occasional yogurt drop or Puff snack thrown in for variety. I suppose this is a bit hypocritical, as I also let him munch on my laptop cord with wild abandon … sadly, Gerber doesn’t make pureed wires.
Last night Brian and I stopped at our favorite Indian restaurant, Guru, to pick up takeout. I got my usual: goat curry and saag paneer. Brian opted for tikka masala and peas in tomato sauce. Dinner in our house is usually an exercise in indigestion: We spread our bounty atop the coffee table while Andy plays on the living room floor for a few precious moments. Eventually, he’ll began to bang on the coffee table, then begin chewing on wires, and then — fearing he’ll plug himself directly into an electric socket — one of us abandons our meal and plops him into his high chair for his evening puree.
Last night, I got a brilliant idea. Maybe my budding Wilfred Brimley should join us for dinner! I worried that he felt excluded. Brian dutifully hauled his portable high chair into the living room (we’re far too uncivilized to actually eat like normal people, at a dining room table … how else would we watch “Jeopardy”?) and sprinkled some YoBaby drops on his tray. But no. Andy craned his neck and bayed at Brian. He was clearly interested in his carton of tikka masala. We paused for a moment and then figured, why not? Why the hell not? What’s the worst that could happen — indigestion? Doesn’t Padma Lakshmi feed her kid exclusively Indian food? If her child can handle it, well, so could innocent young Andy.
We spoon-fed him a tiny dollop of curry. After the initial shock of the spice–his eyes widened and his face turned pink–he loved it. He began smacking his lips and begging for more, which we obligingly fed him. He was delighted.
Tonight, Brian was working late so I was on kitchen duty. Leftovers! I fished some curry remnants from the fridge and mixed it with peas in tomato sauce. He gulped several bites until I began to get selfish (these were my leftovers, too!) and switched him to a Gerber puree. No luck. He promptly smeared it like a face-mask and craned his neck toward my food once again.
I’m psyched. If Andy can stomach Indian food, I’m guessing a dim sum outing (chicken feet? shrimp noodles?) is just a matter of time.
What’s the weirdest food you’ve ever fed your kid?
