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Can we talk about how crazy we’ve become about food?

First, a daycare worker in Manitoba followed a well-intentioned, if misapplied, policy to ensure that children are given a well-balanced meal and the internet broke. Ritz crackers as a grain?! How stupid is that!

At the same time, there is this New York Times article on rich Manhattanites hiring an exclusive nanny consulting service to teach their nannies how to cook healthier and more sophisticated dishes for little Imogen and Atticus. Mr. Leandro, one of the founders of the service, was quoted as saying, “Some of these nannies already do the cooking in the family, but they’re throwing chicken fingers in the oven, or worse, the microwave — they’re doing the bare minimum.” And feeding children the easy way is clearly not good enough for one mother featured in the article who “wanted her daughter to adopt a more refined and global palate, whether it’s a gluten-free kale salad or falafel made from organic chickpeas.”

So, pretty much: The poor people I pay to take care of my children are feeding them poor people foods!

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Skipping Lunch Never Looked So Good

Mom guilt for me usually revolves around two things: diet and TV. I’ve gotten a lot better with the guilt thing as my kids have gotten older and I’ve clocked more years of motherhood. You start to realize that one McDonald’s lunch in front of the TV is pretty small potatoes in the long run. And that there is more to parenting than breastfeeding, I’m afraid. It’s not that simple.

Still, I’m not immune. Since Colum has started school, lunch has become a rushed and harried experience. We have to be at the school bus stop (a 5 – 10 minute walk with kids) at noon which means we should really be sitting down to eat lunch at 11am. Which means … we should be eating breakfast at what time? Earlier than we do, that’s for sure. I also try to do some work in the mornings while the kids play together (I said “try”), so I’m usually running up to get lunch on around 11 and then we sit down between 11:15 and 11:30 and then my kids proceed to go for the world record for longest time ever to eat a cheese sandwich and some veggie sticks. It’s crazy. Finally we finish eating and it’s off to the bathroom for precautionary pre-school pees. Added bonus: Irene’s toilet training now, so she needs to go, too! Then it’s the mayhem of trying to get two kids suited up for the winter, one of whom is two and therefore throwing a tantrum at the bottom of the stairs because I only let her turn the lights on and off three times. The other is a fairly co-operative four year old, but also the most distractable person on the face of the earth. So I wind up putting his snow suit on for him because we have to go even though he should be doing it himself by now.

This all amounts to an extremely stressful lunch and a mad dash to the school bus peppered with much yelling and tears. I told another mom at the bus stop that’s it’s just so hard to squeeze lunch in that early; how does she do it? Her answer: she doesn’t. “I stopped trying,” she said. Instead, they eat a big breakfast a little later, have a snack before school, and she packs a more substantial school snack. Ah.

There have been days when getting dressed took so long, we did brunch instead of lunch, but I worried it wasn’t enough. They don’t get much time to eat their snack at school and I worried Colum wouldn’t get through much more than the cereal bar or muffin I usually pack him. I worried that I needed to provide a typical meal structure even though it wasn’t working for us. I guilted myself into it.

So as of tomorrow we’re trying something new. It will be fresh fruit first thing in the morning and then a big brunch meal around 10:30. I’ll pack a standard snack and also have something ready to go for after school. That should keep them fed and take the edge off our mid-day rush. (I hope!)

Now I just need to wake up before them to get some work done.

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Classic Ice Cream

Tom's Dairy Freeze sign
Image courtesy http://www.etobicokeeats.com/ -- geat blog!

All summer long (and winter, too). 630 The Queensway. 416-259-1846.

There are few simpler or more perfect pleasures than driving out to The Queensway on a summer’s evening and pulling into Tom’s Dairy Freeze. The vintage 1960’s  ice cream and burger shack stands alone in a small lot littered with picnic tables. The weather-worn sign out front is lit up on all sides by incandescent bulbs and you feel as though you’ve been thrown back into another time. If you’re lucky, the line winding it’s way from the front window won’t be too long. And as we dug into our banana split (with four spoons) I thought this is the stuff childhood dreams are made of.

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Don’t Hate Me Because My Husband Can Cook

DAILY SNACK

Yesterday morning,

My husband woke up with a hankering to cook eggs benedict.

Not to eat them, mind you,

(He dislikes eggs.)

Just to cook them.

For us.

IMG_1014That’s two poached eggs sitting atop a thin, crispy slice of back bacon,

And a perfectly browned potato latka,

Covered in homemade hollondaise,

With asparagus, fruit salad, and a croissant on the side.

It doesn’t even matter that it took all morning to make.

Dinner was all me, though.

The angel hair prima vera with jarred pesto sauce I whipped up,

Was not exactly blog-worthy.

But I did stumble upon one culinary discovery.

Behold the poor man’s mandolin:

IMG_1016That’s right.

Vegetable peelers, not just for peeling anymore.

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Coney Island Everything

I feel pretty vindicated on the food front after Colum devoured his lunch today. A couple weeks ago I had a hankering for some chili and made an enormous amount. I know that Colum’s not especially big on the meat, but chili is tomato-y and he does like beans. Still, I served it Cincinnati-style over some whole wheat spaghetti to make it Colum-friendly. We sit down at the table and he announces, “I hate chili.” Wow. I’m not sure if I’ve ever heard him use the word hate before. And I had chili for at least two more meals that week and some for the freezer. Just then, my brother (who was joining us for dinner) rang the doorbell. So I said, “Shane’s here now and he really loves chili. He will be upset if you don’t like the special dinner we cooked for him. I’m going to go let him in and you should just start eating.” I don’t know how I came up with that, but it worked! He started eating, and even though he ate mainly pasta and left the chili, I was satisfied. We had it a couple more times and he would grudgingly eat enough of his dinner. Today I cracked out a small frozen serving and heated it up and served it over spaghetti and topped it with cheddar once again. And he loved it. So there you go: repeated exposure, and some trickery, and a good dose of hunger really do work wonders. And man am I sick of chili.