Vegetarians, look away now. This ain’t going to be pretty.
For once, I am not going to write about my negligent standards, or how I feed my kid things that invariably make him sick, or how strangers have to intervene to make sure he does not eat something deadly. Nor am I going to write about how my son eats bugs (or even more disgusting things.)
C is not a picky eater – in fact, he eats pretty much everything and likes it. With one caveat: I never know what he will like at any given point of time. If today he ate a dozen cherry tomatoes amid great joy and licking of chops, odds are that next time he sees them he’ll spit them out, if only to have more space in his mouth for asparagus. But if I serve him asparagus again it will be totally neglected,so he can stuff himself with rice. Or beans. Or chicken.
It’s anyone’s guess.
Tonight I did myself proud with dinner: New York steak, steamed green beans, spiced sweet potato wedges. What’s the occasion, you say? Tuesday! …and a particularly attractive steak sale on Ralph’s, in which these gorgeous slabs of meat were but a third of their usual price, ahem.
I roasted the potatoes and steamed the beans, and on a rare moment as a conscientious mother I even “butterflied” C’s steak so it would cook faster and more thoroughly. He wolfed down his beans and steak, thoroughly ignored the potatoes (which were his favourite thing not long ago!) and proceeded to beg, borrow and steal green beans from our plates.
Awesome! C is eating a good, big, nutritious dinner! Go me!
C brought various toys to the table to entertain himself while the Dane and I struggled with our much larger steaks, and suddenly he asked me for “pollo.”
“Um… there is no chicken, poots. Do you mean meat? Do you want more meat? Carne?”
My Latin American mother’s heart leapt at this: the child wants more meat! He will be even better fed and nourished, and healthier, happier, taller and stronger! (Meat is the #1 food in Latin America. All will be well if you eat enough meat. Ask my grandma if you don’t believe me.) Without giving it half a second’s thought, I sliced off a bit of my steak and fed it to him. And since he scarfed it right down I gave him another. And another.
And then I noticed the Dane eyeing me with his “do you really think this is a good idea?” eyes.
You see, some people like their steak done, some like it medium-rare, and some prefer it very rare.
Me, I take it further.
I like my steak with a cold center.
Grill masters love me, and dinner mates are usually put off by the bloody sight of my still quivering steaks. It may not be very ladylike, but I eat my meat as rare as the cook will make it.
Now imagine if the cook is my sweet little self.
Yep, I fed my son a lot of essentially raw beef.
Hello Listeria and E. coli.
Let’s see if C’s immune system is up to the challenge!
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