Friday, March 21, 2008

My little foodie

As the kitchen staff at work will tell you, there is nothing I won't eat. That's not to say I actually like everything I put in my mouth, but I have absolutely no fear in trying new things, no matter how bizarre it may sound or how far off my cultural mark it may be. (Case in point being horse. Horsemeat is very popular in many parts of the world, but in North America? Ummm, no. But I tried it, and quite frankly I enjoyed the peppery taste.)

But this post isn't about me or My Little Pony. It's about Son.

Ever since he was old enough to eat real food (and, with my foodie inclinations, I deemed that to be around 10 months old) that delightful child has eaten whatever the grown-ups were eating, no questions asked. I don't know what I would have done if, at any point over the last eleven years, son said, "Noooooooo, Mummy, I don't waaaaaaaaaanna try that, it looks funnnnnnny." Suffice it to say that I probably would have lost my temper and left the room.

I guess. Because I don't actually know.

At the age of two, he scarfed back fresh trout so rare that you may as well say I just kind of waved a light bulb near raw fish.

At three, I went out to dinner with Son, another Mom and her four year old daughter. A few minutes after our meals arrived, I had to raise my voice to my innocent baby. "Son, if you think you are only eating vegetables, you are WRONG. Put down that beet and eat some of your chicken!" Other Mother was floored, confused, and improperly jealous. Seriously, you have no idea what it's like living with a toddler who prefers vegetables over all other food items.

At four, smoked salmon (and , bad move on my part) creme brulee became his new favourites.

At five, he would climb into my lap with his baby-bird act, looking sweet and innocent while hungrily waiting for me to deposit another steamed mussel in his mouth.

At six, the prospect of his favourite snack food would turn him in to a wheedling, annoying clinger until we gave it to him: baby spinach.

At seven, he could crack his own lobster.

At eight, he convinced me to order him a $26 blackened swordfish at lunch (my budget was thinking burgers...) because, "Well, Mummy, I've never tried it before...." And later that same day, he polished off a plate of moose stew.

At nine, he gobbled alligator fritters and asked for more.

At ten, he moved in to the big leagues. During that year, he discovered turducken with cornmeal stuffing, sushi, roasted bear, and foie gras. And he giggled uncontrollably when I offered him a sip of my Sauterne to go with his foie gras. We were in a restaurant, and he said, "But Mummy, you could go to PRISON for giving me wine!" I said, "Shut up, eat your foie gras, and have a sip of this. You'll see." And to his credit, he did, and he did.

At eleven, his new favourite became lobster in white chocolate. And he decided (probably for life) that he does NOT like raw oysters, but he likes them just fine when cooked.

Twelve is only a few months away, and I can only dream about what culinary delights the next year will bring us.

My kid rocks.

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