Random Funny Food Memories
I have no idea what made me think of this, but I thought it worth asking the rest of y'all about. I have a particularly funny food memory of a kick my mom the uncook went on whereby she'd save all leftovers and serve up a big heapin' helpin of 'em once a week. So, for the first week it's Darling Baby Sister's turn to do the clearing, and mom asked her to save the leftovers, which she obediently did. When mom hauled out containers, she found:
Veal gravy from veal stew
Beef gravy from beef stew
2 half-gnawed chicken legs that nobody's admitted to, to this day
Sauce from sweet/sour meatballs, with a few noodles floating
And finally, and I promise this is the truth:
A container holding 3 peas, 6 carrot cubes, and a Brussels sprout.
We went out for pizza that night, and from then on mom supervised the acceptable definition of just exactly what a "leftover" means. : )
Whatcha got? We all need some good laughs lately, don't we?
Talking to #1 son last night and mentioned this thread. He brought up a great one. When he was five, I made an amazing choccy cake for his birthday; fed everyone and wrapped up the leftovers. (Yes, it was THAT big!)
The next morning was awakened to this song, sung very loudly by Michael:
"We got CAKE! We got CAKE!" Got up to investigate, and found Mike and Lauren (2&1/2) sitting UNDER the kitchen table, cakeplate on the floor, covered head-to-toe in chocolate and crumbs. I said, "Hey, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? THAT CAKE IS NOT FOR NOW! AND YOU'RE BEING VERY, VERY NOISY!" at which point Mike looked up at me soulfully, and whisper-sang, v.v. softly, "We got CAKE..."
Waaaaaaaahahahahaha. Sometimes you just have to let go an lose it completely, which is what we all basically did; even the baby who had no idea what had just happened was laughing and banging her hands on the floor to the tune sung by her pied-piper brother....
Why do some memories make you cry and laugh at the same time?
When my son, Ben was about 3 or so, I had a few people over for a spaghetti dinner, including my sister who doted on my son. After dinner, we were still sitting at the table (our new dining room set with white damask upholstery), and my sister thought it would be fun to show her little nephew how to use a bubble pipe. She poured a little bubble solution into the pipe - it's one of those that has 3 little bowl shapes on top, and handed it to Ben. He put it in his mouth and as soon as he inhaled, out came all his spaghetti onto the white chair seat.
Yes, folks, I said 'inhaled'. Sis forgot to tell the little guy that you blow on that kind of pipe. He'd probably never seen anyone with a real pipe, but he had no way of knowing what to do with the thing.
The chairs are up in the attic now, years later, and that stain is still there.
And my little boy is graduating from college in May.
my little sister was "QUITE" the eater when she was a chubby little girl and so my mom was always trying to help the poor thing lose weight and have a bit of self control. My mom recounted this story one day.
sister: Can I look at the peanut jar? (mom had already told her no more snacks)
mom: Ok, (brings down the peanut jar.)
s: Can i just open the jar? just to look at them!
m: (indulging now) Ok, but just to look at them!
s: Can i just smell them?
m: ok, just smell them.
s: Can i just take one out to look at?
m: ok, just one. (my mom's just dying with laughter inside, seeing how much torture this is)
s: can i just lick it?
at that point my mom just let her eat it! we just thought this was so sweet and cute!
This memory is about how my husband cooked garbage for dinner. Real garbage.
The background - I grew up in the country. There was no trash service. People burned anything and everything that would burn. Food scraps were tossed out back in the woods or feed to the animals if you had pets. Anything that wouldn't burn was saved up and taken once a month to the township dump, where you threw it in a pit.
Fast forward to my late 20s - I am now married and living in a town where throwing food scraps out the back door is frowned upon. Because my dear husband was insane about food smells in the garbage, I started to save all food scraps in a bag in the freezer. I would hide the bag way in the back and put it in the trash the night before weekly pick up.
One night I had a meeting afterwork and I was all proud of myself for fixing a pan of food to be put in the oven as soon as the dear husband came home from work. I left very specific instructions, taped to the fridge door so there would be no confusion.
When I returned home, I was sort of surprised when husband said dinner wasn't ready yet. When I asked why, he told me that "it was frozen."
Ah, no it was not, I replied, it is on the top shelf of the fridge, IN FRONT of the wine you removed, how could you not see it?
On and on the conversation goes back and forth. I am confused by his explaination of what he is cooking for dinner.
Somehow, he processed my "preheat the oven to 400 degrees and place this pan in the oven and do not remove the foil" note as "spend 30 minutes rooting through the freezer to find a mystery mass of frozen crap, stored in a bread bag and cook it for dinner."
He put on a big show about how I might be too good to eat the garbage, which was my saved up scraps of raw meat, leftovers too moldy to eat, old cheese, etc. but that it was just fine for him!
Go ahead and eat it, I said, but there is no way I am eating garbage because you can't read a simple note!
The whole thing ended with him admitting he had no explainations for his actions. The real dinner went into the oven we ate late that evening.
I no longer store garbage in the freezer and he learned to not complain about food smells in the trash can.
That is priceless! Just goes to show men are the same on the other side of the world (sorry guys!).
The line "it is on the top shelf of the fridge IN FRONT of the wine you removed" just reminded me of another recent dog related story.
As I no longer have labs (our place isn't big enough) we have graduated into owning my elderly jack russell cross dachshund and our latest addition a gorgeous (!) Finnish lapphund. Lappies are nowhere near as greedy as labs and other than the odd bin raid and soft questioning eyes over lamb whilst it cooks we haven't had too many food related problems.
Or so I thought.
I baked a marzipan cake recently and even talked about it on the 'What's For Dinner?' thread. As it was going to be late when I wanted to serve it, I promised my little boy he could have a piece in the morning and he wouldn't miss out. For some reason he didn't think I would save him a piece, so I told him I would cut him a special big slice and leave it on a plate for him to have after breakfast in the morning. It was over the weekend and NOTHING stops me from sleeping in on weekend mornings.
Late next morning my boy crept in to see if we were awake. First thing I asked was if he got his piece of cake, did he enjoy it and was the piece big enough? Yes, he found his piece of cake, yes he enjoyed it, yes it was big enough - but it was so big he decided he couldn't eat all of it, so he just ate the inside part and left 'the crust'. Excellent, no problems then...sort of.
Mr Huntress got up, went into our boy's room to find him sitting at his desk with THE LEFTOVER 2/3 OF CAKE from the night before picking at THE ENTIRE CENTRE of the cake. Essentially he had hollowed it out. The whole thing. I am generally a very patient mummy, but I repeatedly questioned my boy over "How could you have not seen the SLICE of cake I left for you IN FRONT of the WHOLE cake you have now demolished! Really! How could you have missed it?" I went on a mummy tirade of "You need to look harder, what is going on with you, you need to think, blah, blah, blah" My little boy kept insisting he really hadn't seen the slice of cake (but it was IN FRONT of the big cake!!!), that he was really sorry and he was really, really telling the truth. I gave up and went downstairs to the kitchen to prove my point.
And when I got downstairs there was the little plate, right where I left it, on the kitchen bench, in plain sight.
My lovely Lappie took one look at me, gave me a VERY guilty look, did her guilty ears and went and hid in her guilty spot.
I spent the whole day apologising to my poor little boy who really, really thought his day was made with a GIANT slice of cake.
Yes, men are different!
My MIL called last night and made me think of another one -
My ILs came up from Florida on Thanksgiving and we did not have enough oven space to cook all the dishes. Dear Husband decided to cook the yams and the suffing on the gas grill, located on our covered back porch.
He filled the yam pans to the point of overflowing with maple syrup and placed the yams, along with two trays of stuffing in the gas grill.
I mentioned to him that maybe all that maple syrup wasn't such a good idea because it could catch fire and honey, maybe you want to turn the grill down to low. This gentle advice went in one ear and out the other.
Thankfully, there was about a foot of snow on the ground because all of a sudden, I hear my MIL screaming that the grill was on fire. We all run to the window and sure enough, massive flames are shooting out of the grill.
The cursing starts as DH runs outside, opens the grill and throws one, two, three flaming pans of food into the yard where they left shameful black smears in the snow. He put out the fire in the fourth pan, which was stuffing and declared it to be "just fine to eat" (The top third was charred black)
DH looks at me and asks "what happened? why did the grill catch on fire?" When I said "maybe it was all that maple syrup boiling out of the pan" he says "what maple syrup?"
I remember drinking A LOT of wine that day.
One of my mother's cousin's wives (got that straight?) is an absolutely horrible cook. However, she's the type that thinks she's Julia Child incarnate, and when I was a kid and we were visiting family in Florida she always wanted to make something. It first she was kept to awful desserts, including a coffee cake that had actual coffee grounds in it, but then she wanted to branch out and invited us to dinner. All of us immediately protested that we didn't want to go but Mom overrode us. "You will be polite and you will eat whatever you are given and you will not make faces or remarks or spit it out," she said. "If you do you're in big trouble."
So over we went to Tom and Eileen's house like doomed criminals going to the gas chambers. Surprisingly there was a nice salad to begin, then Eileen brought out a tureen of what looked like beef burgundy along with noodles. She gave everyone a serving while Mom was giving us the evils. Once everyone had a plate and Eileen had sat down Mom was the first one to take a bite. She chewed once, made the most godawful face, spat it into her napkin and gasped, "Jesus Christ, Eileen, what the hell is this, it tastes like rancid dog food!"
We literally fell off our chairs laughing. Poor Eileen was red as a beet, as was Mom. Needless to say we gave Mom grief the whole way back and we were never over there for dinner again. And despite the fact that my mother's been dead for over thirty years Eileen STILL holds a grudge even when she's reassured we were laughing at Mom, not her.
A memory from way back. My same-age stepbrother, whom I've lived with my whole life so is basically my brother, used to throw EPIC tantrums. Way beyond the norm. He was also incredibly anal with everything, including his sandwiches. I can remember as a kid not really having the fine motor control to be able to hold the top and bottom pieces of bread so that bites were even. I almost always had a larger piece of bread and ended up eating the filling and one piece of bread. I was ok with it - my bro would start to cry about halfway through in anticipation of it ending badly. He'd whimper throughout the second half of the sandwich. He'd finally get to the point when the sandwich became inedible (not really sure what his criteria was... lol) and then he'd cry, moan, want it fixed. Problem was - it was unfixable. He couldn't eat it as-is and a new piece of bread of was "too big" (even when cut down to size). My family still talks about it to this day and I'm 36!
Oh, that poor kid. Oh, that poor tortured soul. So please somebody tell me why I can't stop laughing at amyvc's post?
People can be SO weird about their food, especially kidlets, innit? My baby brother used to have a "thing" where everything on his plate had to end up even: he'd go from the meat to the mashed to the veg., taking same-size bites of everything, carefully calculating and calibrating just to make sure; little algebraic bites, nibblenibblenibble, getting increasingly smaller as he wore the piles down. It never transcended a sort of toddler-OCD - at least not to the extent of a tantrum, 'cause he had plenty else to bitch about - but it was darn fascinating to watch.
Ah, memories. Good timessssss.
You can't stop laughing because it's actually hilarious? ;) Just a suggestion.
I remember my son being a control freak when he got super tired when he was 2. It didn't happen often, it had to be a special set of events that all kind of coincided - massive day, stupidly over-tired and in that weird manic state and a few other things. I remember one night he would not go to bed and was wailing on the floor for green milk. Yes, green milk. I had no idea what possessed him to want green milk (especially being that his favourite colour has always been orange), but there I was, mixing yellow and blue food colouring into milk at some ridiculous hour. I hated myself for giving in (I was so tired!), but magically the green milk solved everything and he went to bed happy. It never happened again.
Oh my goodness, that's the kind of thing that makes me howl, Huntress. That's such an awful state to watch your child be in, not to mention the exercise it gives your coping skills (my daughter calls them "copers"). Mike, at maybe 3-4, got like that once or twice; sort of the equivalent of a full-blown grocery-store flipout, only done in the privacy of our very own home. I remember getting down on my knees and saying, "honey, stop it, you're making yourself sick, you're hysterical," with which he went mad as a hatter, lurching up in my face, his face red and eyes bulging, screaming, "I am NOT HINSERIKAL!!!"
And then fell sound asleep on the floor about 37 seconds later.
Haha, I love it! That's so cute. Yes, all round my boy is an absolute delight (in fact since I got home from hospital and can't do a thing he has INSISTED on doing the housework. He swept and flooded...eeerrrr....I mean mopped the floors and everything and he's only 6), but he has certainly had his moments. Although the time he threw a hissy fit when he was about 3 because we bought him fish 'n' chips and he wanted nori rolls like us was kind of cool. I was just a tiny bit proud.
I was just thinking to myself that I hadn't asked you how you're feeling, and I'm glad to hear you report that you're home and healing. : )
Awwww, he's SIX and he did all that? What a sweetie-guy, what a honeylove! It's a beautiful thing, when we see the love and empathy we raise them with come home to roost. Sounds like you're doing a fantastikal job, ma'am.
My "kids" are 27, 25, and 24 and are pretty much Hounds themselves. I'm proud of them and their nicely-honed palates too! It was soooo much easier, and so much more fun; I'd have lunch with my friends and their almost magically picky kids and my kids would just be kind of confused by the shenanigans some people had to go through to get their kids to eat, say, Asian noodle soup instead of the ubiquitous Campbell's. They'd sit down and tuck in, and meanwhile the other kids would be trying to make tictactoe patterns with the noodles in their bowls.
Eh, 'hound or not, picky or no, I love 'em all. Kids. AWESOME.
Yeah, the kids are alright LOL I am proud of my boy, he has been an absolute star since I got home.
As another funny thing in trying to develop my little chowpup I have started saying to him "even if you think you don't like it, just try it - if you don't I will let you spit it out and you don't have to eat it". He's generally pretty good and has discovered that while some things are not to his taste (cold pumpkin in salad was a disaster) some things are FANTASTIC. So he has kind of latched on to this way of thinking and is further exploring the wonderful world of food.
Cut to our kitchen one evening. It's not often I cook two seperate meals in our house, but Mr. Huntress hates seafood in all shapes and forms (it's his one big flaw LOL) whereas I love it and cannot live without it. Chowpup has inherited my love of all things from the ocean. So while I generally avoid bringing seafood into the house there are times when I can't hold back and HAVE to have it. So this one evening I was cooking a lovely creamy garlicky prawn pasta for myself and chowpup and Mr. Huntress got a different non-seafood sauce for his. Chowpup asked why we were having seperate meals, to which Mr. Huntress explained he didn't like seafood. Chowpup sighed, picked up his fork, stabbed a prawn and started his diatribe:
"You don't know you don't like it until you try it, Daddy. Really, here, just try it, you might like it! You just have to try it, how do you know you don't like it?"
Chowpup spent all the evening desperately trying to fork prawns into Mr. Huntresses mouth and couldn't understand why he wouldn't "just try it!" despite all assurances that he previously had done.
Is it wrong that I was more on Chowpups side than Mr. Huntress?
when i was little, Dad used to eat hot cherry peppers on his sandwiches, and sometimes snack on them straight from the jar (we kids called them chip-pips). anyway, one day we were sitting at the kitchen table eating lunch on a weekend afternoon, and my brother, who was 11 or 12 at the time, insisted he wanted to try one of the peppers. my parents tried to discourage him, but he was determined, so he reached across the table, grabbed the jar, and stuck several of the peppers in his mouth. after chewing for a few seconds, his face turned the deepest shade of crimson i've ever seen in a human being, and he started yelling hothothothothothothothot!!!!!!!!! and grabbing at all the drinks on the table. he got to mine first, chugged every last drop in the glass, and then reached for my sister's....unfortunately she was never the sharing type, and she started screaming and crying "Not Grimace! Grimace is miiiiine!" (we were drinking out of those cheap McDonaldland glasses that came in sets from the gas station, and she was the ONLY one who was allowed to drink out of the Grimace glass.) my poor brother finally just ran over to the sink and stuck his tongue under the faucet.
and of course there was my brother's Bar Mitzvah, when my sister misunderstood the Rabbi and thought we were supposed to help him blow out all the candles on the cake *by* the count of three. so much for bro's birthday wish that year!
For Pi Day, a funny story about pie.
My (Canadian) mom was very proud of the pecan chiffon pie she made once in a while (basically a pecan creme bavaroise in a pie shell, I must make it sometime).
It was quite fussy to make and the ingredients were considered rather expensive so it was only made for occasions.
She made it for my then boyfriend now husband when we were coming back home from university one time.
She (like me) was a fisher for compliments and asked him how he liked it.
Mr. "I can never say anything I don't mean" (seriously) said "It's excellent but I like the kind my mom makes better". (American mom, Karo syrup-based pie.)
When my mom wrote out recipes for me when we got married she gave me the one for the pecan chiffon with "THIS IS A FAMILY FAVOURITE" under the title, underlined! Twice!
I smile every time I see that card (or think about the Pie Incident).
bt, I'm having strong feelings about this pie. I feel that I, too must make a pecan chiffon pie of our very own. Is there a share-able recipe, or is that one family-only?
Tell ya what: in exchange, I'll give you Mom the Uncook's top- secret recipe for peanut butter and jelly on graham crackers. Oh, wait. I just did. 'K, don't tell anybody. : )
"Toasted Pecan Chiffon Pie
This is a family favourite!
1 envelope unflavoured gelatine
1/4 cup water
1/4 t salt
1 t vanilla
1/2 c sugar
1 c milk
1/2 c whipping cream
1/2 c toasted pecans, chopped
Cook beaten egg yolks, sugar, salt and milk over boiling water until it coats a silver spoon. Add gelatine which has been soaked in cold water. Stir well add vanilla, cool and when mixture begins to congeal fold in the stiffly beaten egg whites, pecans, and whipping cream. Pour into a baked shell and chill. Top with sweetened whipped cream and pecan halves if desired. It takes 1 half pint whipping cream altogether.
To toast pecans pop them in a moderate oven for a while. Not really necessary though. Mom"
Verbatim from the recipe card given to me in 1973.
I have never made it (sorry Mom) but it sounds good and not very sweet.
I'd up the amount of pecans and would whip the whipping cream before folding in, I don't remember if she did or not.
More pie lore from my mom, I just thought about this -
My mother's pies were legendary (in our family) and her piecrust sublime (lard, you could see the flaky layers when you cut it).
She always made one when my brothers (a lot older than I) came home (so much so that when my dad saw a pie, he would say "Ken coming?" just to get her goat - and since she made at least one every week, he knew it would, big time).
So once she made a gorgeous butterscotch meringue pie when my brother Tom and his then wife (a female Jekyll and Hyde, you never knew which you were going to get) were coming over.
She sits down and says "Eww, butterscotch? I never did like clotted pies". CLOTTED!
The type was known as "clotted" from then on...ruefully...
i get good ones from my 3 yo all the time...
like the latest...
i was having some popcorn and she walks up in front of me and just stands there with her mouth open...so i said what are you? a baby bird and i'm supposed to feed u ?
she nods and goes uh huh...
so i said ok then if you are a baby bird u need to say ahh ahh ahh feed me ahh ahh ahh..
so now whenever i am eating something she just walks up and goes
ahh ahh ahh feed me ahh ahh ahh..with her mouth wide open...
I love this!
My favourite funny food memory is a recent one and may be slightly inappropriate, but I hope you can bear with me.
Some girlfriends and I were catching up for the first time in ages and we decided to treat ourselves and go to a fantastic wine bar in our city. As we're all nurses it's quite difficult for us to arrange shifts and schedules for us to catch up - we all had so much to catch up on.
I should probably also add we subscribe to the typical nurse logic of work hard/play hard. We're all up front, confident with really twisted senses of humour. I might also add that the other members of my party are all exceptionally beautiful young women.
So we sat down in the fabulous bar, ordered drinks and food and kicked the evening off. I happen to be a bit flirtatious and usually enjoy a bit of banter with staff. I struck up an accord with the waiter, who was completely charming and was looking after us really well. The evening flowed on, the rest of my party ordered cheeses and more wine - I don't eat cheese and the waiter was busy elsewhere, so I placed my dessert order with another waitress and continued on with my friends.
The conversation turned to one of my friends who had had a boob job since the last time we saw her. Being that we'd had a few drinks, are all health care nerds and, well, just interested, it was quite a topic of discussion. Hospital stay, type of implant used, placement, etc. was all very interesting and important to us. And being the curious type I am I wanted to know if they felt real and my lovely friend being the obliging type she is came around to my side of the table so I could feel for myself. I had to say the surgeon had done a marvellous job and was expressing how impressed I was by how real they seemed.
I am not too sure if our waiter timed it on purpose or not, but his timing was beautiful as he came to our table with my valrhona chocolate pudding. The expression on his face was priceless as he realised that he couldn't put my dessert on the table as he was being blocked by a beautiful woman having her breasts massaged by myself. Of course we all lost it laughing; he handled it like a true gentleman and I assured him that my friend had truly excellent breasts, just in case he was wondering.
Tipping is not the norm in our culture, but we all decided at the end of the evening that he absolutely deserved something extra for being such a star and putting up with a table such as ours.
My Grandma and her sister were making homemade pasta noodles. They would roll the dough out cut it, place it on the bed that had a sheet on top of it to dry. They were at it for quite some time and felt like they had hardly made any pasta. Come to discover the dog was eating it as they made it.
My husband does not care for Angel food cake. I really wanted some with some summer straberries. So I made one and was cooling it on the ocunter. We went out for a while and when I went into the kitchen later I asked where he put the cake. I could not find it any where, not even a crumb. I thought he was teasing me and hid it. My sweet Bull Mastiff Daisy had eaten the whole thing. That was the only time she ever jumped up on the counters.
We were Barbequeing hot dogs on a Hibachi grill in the back yard. Went in the house for something and upon our return the dogs were gone. Our long haired mutt had stolen them from the grill, with out one singed hair.
my dear departed calico Lulu was quite the Chowkitty...with the extra weight on her frame to prove it as she got older :) once when i brought her back East with me for a visit with my folks, we were sitting at the kitchen table catching up with an old family friend over brunch brought in from Zabars. out of nowhere, Lulu sprang onto the table, snatched up a huge chocolate croissant in her mouth right off a plate, and darted off with it. i think we laughed for a good 15 minutes.
Oh did THIS bring back a memory, Midlife. I worked one Summer as an au pair, and the mom would call and ask me to take something out of the freezer in time for dinner; no problem. Until the day the (4-ft. tall) Great Dane got in the back while the rest of us were out in front, and proceeded to literally unwrap the Tenderloin I'd taken out. No, she didn't tear into it, because it wasn't decimated, she was much more delicate than that. All I know is, that big beautiful roast was GONE and there was a pretty-darn-intact wrapper on the floor. At any rate, mom got home within about 5 minutes of this and I showed her the wrapper, and I swear to this day, I think she thought I ate that roast. All 4'10" and 90 pounds of me, soaking wet.
If it makes you feel any better my beloved black lab actually jumped up on the table and started cleaning plates during a dinner party. Thankfully my guests 1) had just left the table to relocate to the lounge 2) are dog friendly people 3) are very forgiving people in general. Harvey thought all his Christmases had come at once and I didn't know whether to laugh, cry or be morbidly embarrassed. I had never seen such behaviour from him before, so I have no idea what came over him. Thankfully he was an exceptionally handsome member of his breed, thus easily forgiven.
I would give anything to have him here raiding my table tonight.
Mom's dog loved apples. Adored apples. Lived for apples. Every evening mom would sit on the couch about an hour after dinner and share an apple with Pav. I still can't make apple pie without looking at the pile of apple cores and feel sad about having to throw them away.
He would eat just about anything else too. Left a loaf of rye bread on the counter once and went to take the laundry out of the washer and put it in the dryer. Put another load in the washer. 10 minutes max. Came back and the rye bread was gone... pieces of wrapper on the floor, and a VERY thirsty little doggie. A Welsh Corgi. We never did figure out how he even got to the bread, let alone ate it that fast.
When I was first married I served beans in some form to Mr. Sueatmo, and sometime during the meal he demanded "Why don't we ever buy peppers?" I remembered this, and I bought bottled vinegar sauce with small peppers in the bottle, which is what my dad always liked on his beans. Soon after, Mr. Sueatmo demanded to know why we still never had peppers to eat! I produced the bottled pepper sauce, and he was flummoxed, to say the least. "We never communicate", he said. He of course meant why didn't we ever have any green peppers? To this day, decades later, he still says, "We never communicate."
Years before my mom did the craziest thing I ever saw her do. She came home from grocery shopping, and even before putting everything else away, she pulled a frozen pie out of the grocery bag, opened it, and put into the oven. (I suppose it had not even preheated. She apparently wanted pie, big time.) She checked on it a little later and was astonished that it was melting, not baking. She had attempted to bake an ice cream pie!
My brother's very first temper tantrum was over brussels sprouts... and probably not in the way you'd imagine. He was still in a high chair, and mom and dad decided to have sprouts with dinner. They bought and made just enough for the two of them, with a *few* for me and my brother to try since we'd never had them before and were still quite young. Mom steamed them perfectly, cut them into quarters, buttered them just so, salt and pepper... and then set them in front of us with no small amount of trepidation. I ate them and liked them fine and moved on.
My brother, on the other hand, decided that they were the best thing he'd ever tasted, quietly devoured them along with the rest of his food, and when his plate was clean, he folded his hands, and said in his sweetest, politest voice, "Mommy, may I pleeeease have some more brussels sprouts?"
Mom (surprised, as you might imagine) replied, "Oh, honey, thank you for asking so politely, but there aren't any more!"
Whereupon my brother calmly put his napkin down, slid the high-chair tray back, climbed out, laid down on the floor, and proceeded to pitch a fit. Sprouts got a more regular spot in the side-veggie rotation from then on, I can tell you!
That's hilarious. It's hard to imagine a child really liking something so intense. My son's first (and probably last) exposure to Brussels sprouts went somewhat differently.
I have to admit that I don't like them (and I grew up in a place where they were always very fresh--I never knew you could buy them pre-cut off the stalk until I moved to New England) but my daughter wanted to try them, so I bought a small stalk of them at Whole Foods and cooked them. She loved them plain, without butter or salt. I told my son he had to eat one.
He picked one up, sniffed it, made a face, then put it in his mouth. Then all hell broke loose. He ran to the front hall, threw himself down on the rug, then began rolling around, making agonized gagging sounds. Because he has food allergies, I got worried. I asked him if he was okay. He sat up and replied, "That was the most disgusting thing I ever ate. Was it poisonous?"
re: Stephanie Wong
>when as a child I declined trying something unfamiliar, Dad would immediately take it from me, devour all of it & say "oh, boy; oh, boy, more for me!"
Theoretically, that should work! But here's one of my favorite funny stories (though more about eating than about food as such). It is a very recent one involving my adorable granddaughter, who will be three later this week, and who tends to know what she wants (so reverse psychology doesn't always work).
Anyway, she was eating a meal with my daughter (her mom) and announced that she 'wanted to use the big fork', not her toddler-sized fork. My daughter was not happy about this, because granddaughter tends to make more of a mess with bigger utensils, but decided to go along, with a bit of reverse psychology: daughter gave granddaughter her big fork, grabbed the little fork and started eating with it, saying, 'I like using this little fork better'.
Granddaughter, as she continued to eat with the big fork, 'well, that's good, because I like this one'. :-)
Our next door neighbor is quite a cook and I was pretty amazed at the special meal request she got from her daughter on her 9th birthday........................... 15 Boy Curry!!!!!!!!!
BOY!!!!!!!!!! CURRY!!!!!!!!!!! 9 years old??? and............... this is most definitely not part of any family original or ethnicity. 'Just' a Mom who's a great cook. Mealtime may come as a shock to this terrific young lady, especially if she goes off to college and lives in a dorm, that most of the people she'll meet did not grow up with such chow diversity in their homes.