Top 10 Foods Only a Baby Could Love

Around here, we love top 10 lists.  I particularly enjoyed Jessica’s Top Ten Things I Ate in College That I’ll Never Eat Again.  It brought back some fond memories and the taste of stomach acid.  I might also add the Ramen sandwich and instant apple cider made with dorm room sink water.  But it’s been ten years since I entered that freshman dorm, and life as a parent has taken me to some new culinary lows.  So, here we go…the top 10 foods only a baby (or maybe a toddler) could love:

10. Single-Grain Cereal

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As a child, my mom tried to sell me on the virtues of a strange paste called Cocoa Wheats, sometimes singing the jingle as she stirred the gluey concoction on the stove.   Even at the tender age of 8, I knew that stuff was nasty.  And yet, we are told to give it to babies as their first food because it’s “highly digestible”  and has a “smooth texture.” I think we’ve only succeeded this long because they can’t talk back.  Just a warning, parents, they get over it pretty quickly and you’ll be stuck with a box of the stuff for months or years to come.

9.  Pureed Vegetables

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

All the texture of rice cereal, plus the power to stain any and all surfaces they touch — liquified veggies are truly abhorrent.  Since we waited until Elijah was six months old to give him solid foods, the mushy green paste period was mercifully short.  We never tried the jarred meat, so I can only imagine the horror.  And the smell.

I have been to a few restaurants lately where super-smooth vegetable mush was passed off as “sauce.”  Nope.  I’m on to you.  Gerber has a stake in this somewhere.

8. Food Off the Floor

Now, before you go and call me a snob, know that I am not talking about the 5-second rule, or even the 30-second rule.  I am talking about days-old, dried up, stuck-to-the-floor old food.  My son was never big on putting foreign objects into his mouth, but if it is, or once was, food — look out.  On the upside, I will say that my sweeping standards are dramatically higher as a result.

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Burns My Bacon: Useless Fortune Cookies

Last week, my husband and I both, separately, had super-rough days, and so instead of our usual rice and beans, we decided that we needed to drown our sorrows in a pile of grease and MSG.  Which is to say that we decided to order Chinese takeout.  The cheese wontons were delectably devoid of nutritional content, the “sesame beef” was mainly breading dipped in sweet and sour sauce, and the Kung Pao vegetables were mmm, mmm, SPICY.  Basically, the meal was exactly what we needed.  Until we got to the fortune cookies.

First off, let’s get one thing out of the way: fortune cookies do not taste good.  Apparently, there are people who like them, but here’s my thought:  think of a cookie, any cookie.  Now ask yourself, is it better than a fortune cookie?  I cannot think of a single instance where the answer would be no.  But that was not my problem.  That was not news to me.  No, the issue at hand, what really burns my reconstituted pork product, is the “fortune,” which is supposed to be the only redeeming part of the cookie.  When did fortune cookies stop predicting the future and start offering unhelpful life advice?  If I needed more of that, I would subscribe to O Magazine.  When I suffer through that hard, tasteless, folded piece of “cookie,” I expect to find out what exciting event awaits me, not a command to, “welcome each day as a fresh new beginning.”

I still remember the episode of Step by Step where Cody keeps opening fortune cookies to solve his life crisis until he finds one that reads, “Seek advice from the man upstairs.” This is what I’m talking about.  I guess I’ll just have to go back to horoscopes for a glimpse into my future (and that of everyone else born between November 22 and December 21, but that’s a rant for another time).

The Last Gasps of Soup Season

I love soup.  My husband does not.  He likes it okay, but he considers it to be mainly a side dish, whereas I would happily eat soup for dinner most nights of the week, particularly if it is accompanied by some nice, crusty bread.  Still, despite his anti-soup-as-main-dish bias, I can usually get away with one day a week where the main course is in liquid form.  I also use a side of grilled cheese as a selling point.

But all that is about to change.  Once the weather officially becomes summer, which here in DC should be in the next week or so, soup is officially off the menu. I understand that, I do.  Who wants to eat hot soup on a hot day?  As for cold soups, well, not so much.  I can’t really refute the argument that gazpacho is basically like eating salsa with a spoon.

Nature has given me a few cold and rainy days these past few weeks, and I have taken full advantage.  My go-to soup recipe is, like most of my recipes, not really a recipe at all.  Don’t blame me, though.  As you can see by the ancient sticky note below, this one has been handed down to me from my mom.

Just in case you can’t make out her scratchy, water-splotched scrawl, I will give you my interpretation.

Cream of a Vegetable Soup

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Friday Fuck-Up: Ten-Year Dejá Vu

A few weeks ago, I did something that I haven’t done since high school.  No, I didn’t stay up all night watching the entire Mighty Ducks series or eat nothing but French fries for all three meals.  Either of those things would have been preferable to what actually occurred.  No, friends, instead I burned a pot of rice, and not just a little bit.  I am still sketchy on what the exact sequence of events was that led to this tragic incident, but upon reflection on my tendency towards distraction, I am surprised that it hasn’t happened more often.

I still have a clear memory of the last such disaster.  I was probably about 16, and I was tasked with making Spanish rice from a packet to accompany dinner.  I put the rice on, forgot about it, and went to watch TV in the basement.  The squealing of the smoke detector was my first hint that something had gone horribly wrong.  After shaking her head in pity at my irresponsibility, my mom declared the pot irredeemable and tossed it in the trash.

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Eating Down the Fridge: Condiment Club

I am about to make a confession that I am pretty sure makes me un-American:  I don’t like really like condiments.  Specifically, I am not a fan of ketchup or mayonnaise.  Yep.  Just exile me now.  So, if you are reading this post looking for ways to use that four-year-old bottle of mustard lurking in the fridge door, I’m sorry. I have nothing for you today.

Here’s the thing, though.  I think that mayo, ketchup, Miracle Whip, and especially green ketchup give condiments a bad name.  After all, a quick search at Dictionary.com reveals that a condiment is “something used to give special flavor to food.”  Okay, that I can get behind.

Here at my house, we are 90% vegetarian.  Also, we are very cheap frugal.  Often, particularly toward the end of the month, we eat a lot of beans and rice/tortillas/polenta/etc… That’s all nice and nutritious, but it can get a little…well, tedious.  Enter my favorite condiment: homemade coleslaw.  Contracy to popular belief, it can be made from all kinds of vegetables; not just cabbage. Throw some atop a big ol’ pile of rice and beans (or a baked bean sandwich, pictured above), and voila: instant dinner elevation.  It’s the perfect EDtF recipe, because the permutations are endless.

“Recipe” for homemade coleslaw:

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