Today, one of my children dry heaved at lunch. He wasn’t sick, either. He just didn’t like the food.

The other kids hated the meal just as much, but, with the reward of a peanut butter apple dangling over their heads, they plodded onward, using their bits of rationed toast (“no more until your soup is all gone!”) to scoop up the bits of pasta and spinach.

However, when the gagging happened, I threw in the towel. They were mostly done anyway and I was sick of playing The Evil Witch. The chickens got the dregs and the kids got their apples.

I suppose I should feel guilty that my kids suffer through their meals so. Many people think it’s ridiculous, wrong even, to make children eat something they don’t like. I don’t feel any remorse, though. Just prickly irritation. Dagnabbit, you ungrateful wretches, THIS IS GOOD FOOD! Buck up and eat it and don’t forget to kiss my feet and say thank you when you’re done!

Good grief.

(For the record, I regularly make my kids eat foods they don’t prefer, such as—and it depends on the child—dried beans, peas, squash, stewed apples, semi-burnt toast crusts, tomato chunks, egg casserole, oatmeal, potato peels, etc. Foods I choose not to push include peanut butter, dark chocolate, burnt toast crusts, kale, mushrooms, meat, pie, polenta, and grapefruit. Don’t waste time trying to find a rhyme or reason because there mostly isn’t one. Also, if you have any brilliant food-and-kid policies, feel free to share.)

I loved the soup. Loved, loved, loved it. It fed my soul.

But after our tumultuous lunch, I started to feel like maybe I was weird for liking it, so I looked the recipe up on-line again, this time checking the comments. Everyone raved about it which made me feel better.

Clearly, my kids are the weird ones, not me. I will never doubt myself again.

Nor will I try to feed them this soup for a very, very, very long time.

Spinach Lemon Orzo Soup
Adapted from sprinkledwithflour’s recipe on the Tasty Kitchen Blog

This soup is bright and flavorful and spicy and alive. I think the kids were reacting to the textures more than the tastes. They’d probably like it just fine if I used shell pasta and broccoli in place of the orzo and spinach. A bit of ground sausage (or shrimp!) wouldn’t hurt either.

a hearty drizzle of olive oil
1 onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 lemon, zested and juiced
1 teaspoon red pepper flakes
½ teaspoon dried thyme
1 ample cup orzo
1 10-ounce package frozen spinach, drained
6 cups chicken broth (part of which can be water)
1-2 teaspoons salt
2 tablespoons water
1 tablespoon cornstarch
Parmesan cheese, for serving

Saute the onion and garlic in the olive oil. Add the lemon zest, red pepper and thyme and stir for a couple minutes. Stir in the orzo and spinach and toss around until heated through. Add the broth, lemon juice, and salt. Simmer for 10-15 minutes, or until the pasta is nearly tender. Mix the cornstarch and water in a small bowl and add to the soup. Cook for several more minutes. Taste to correct seasonings before ladling into bowls and sprinkling with Parmesan. Serve with buttered toast.

This same time, years previous: kiddling shenanigans

We’re languishing, doing everything halfway. We’re halfway working, halfway playing, halfway sick(ing) (gotta keep it parallel), halfway eating, halfway writing. Even the weather is halfway weathering—a little snow, a little rain, a little sun—and the kids’ fighting is halfway, all aimless whining and bickering.

Everyone felt better yesterday, though, and that’s when I made this pudding. I had a house full of kids—seven in all—and none of them sick. They played hard and ate much and the girls even cleaned one of the disaster areas (otherwise known as a bedroom) from top to bottom.

One of my favorite meals to serve a houseful of kids, some of which are vegetarian (*!), is a large bowl of baked potatoes with butter and salt, a half gallon-plus of green beans, and applesauce.

The kids eat and eat and eat, and then I give them a dessert of some sort, often a cobbler or crisp, or maybe a plate of leftover Christmas cookies. Last night they got sticky toffee pudding with whipped cream.

I served it up and then quietly watched then eat. I couldn’t wait to hear their reaction (I’d snuck tastes and was totally head over heels in sticky toffee ecstasy), but they ate their dessert nonchalantly, slowly, minus any lip-smacking and mm-mming. The silence was unnerving.

But then, then! One by one the kids looked at me as though they were waking from a deep sleep. Their eyes slowly focused on my face, and, trance-like, they held out their bowls. “Is there any more?”

Sticky Toffee Pudding
Adapted from Ruth Reichl’s blog

Suggested variations: swap out the dates for raisins, add in pecans or walnuts, flavor the syrup with vanilla or bourbon. The pudding must, however, be served with whipped cream.

for the syrup:
1 cup brown sugar
1 tablespoon butter
1 ½ scant cups boiling water

Bring all three ingredients to a boil in a saucepan. Reduce the heat and simmer for 20-25 minutes, or until slightly thickened.

for the cake:
½ cup sugar
1 tablespoon butter
1 cup flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
a hearty pinch of salt
½ cup milk
½ teaspoon each nutmeg and cinnamon
½ cup chopped dried dates

Beat together the sugar and butter. Beat in the flour, baking powder and salt (it will not be well-incorporated, so don’t stress). Slowly add the milk, beating after each addition. Fold in the spices and dates.

Pour the syrup into a greased loaf pan. Spoon the batter into the middle of the pan—it will float on the syrup. Bake the pudding at 350 degrees for about 35 minutes, or until a cake tester (inserted only in the cake part) comes out clean. Cool for 10 minutes before inverting onto a plate.

Serve warm, with barely sweetened whipped cream.

*! My younger daughter proclaims she is now a vegetarian. This is not because of some great moral awakening, but rather because she wants to be twins with her vegetarian friend.

Also, she has renamed herself, though I can’t right now remember what it is.

Her teen years ought to be pretty interesting.

This same time, years previous: eyeballs and teeth, a rant against the boob tube