Tonight, I tested the vows of my marriage during our family dinner by substituting turkey for beef and cauliflower for potatoes.
It all started when I called for my family in a fashion of what I hoped would be regarded as ordinary. I was aiming somewhere between casual and indifferent.
With his plate protectively guarded against his chest, my husband first examined the counterfeit replacement vegetable like a coroner searching for defensive wounds. Then, with the painstaking precision normally reserved for such endeavors as brain stem surgery or nuclear bomb dismantling, he gingerly sampled a microgram of the substance, which confirmed his suspicions that the mushy white matter was indeed inedible--bordering on fatally poisonous. Then, with no further ceremony, he swiftly and resolutely retracted his fork away from the offending dish and advanced toward the peas. No apology was offered; none was expected.
My three-year-old, bound by the "make a happy plate" clause of the "so you will grow big and strong" contract, calculated that paying the damages in an early bedtime outweighed the cost of compliance. In the end, she managed to strike a "three more bites" plea which commuted her sentence to time served.
The baby and I finished our portions happily, with disparate degrees of sincerity. Me, with the maniacal defiance of a cornered pit bull. Her, with an underdeveloped sense of taste.
Actually, I exaggerate. But I later learned that you have to steam the cauliflower for quite a while before it will be soft enough to mash to the proper consistency. (I had given it somewhere around ten minutes. Next time, I'll try twenty.) And then it must be seasoned and creamed to reduce the chances of cauliflower detection, although the more judicious of the vegetable opponent community will not likely be fooled.
The turkey meatloaf tasted fine, but it isn't as hardy as its bovine cousin, so we were a little thrown by having to use a spoon to scoop our meat.
The foregoing description, coupled with my limited photographic skills, paint a poignant picture. But, in all honesty, I had a generous second helping of everything, and the baby ate better than she had in days.
And yes, I use paper plates for every meal.
No comments:
Post a Comment