French Kids Eat Everything by Karen Billon (classic english novels txt) 📕

use the word “construct”) their children’s tastes. The preferred vegetables they use are often curious choices, at least to American eyes. My mother-in-law was surprised, for example, that I started my daughters off with green peas—because she felt that their taste and texture was “too strong.” In fact, the French (somewhat haphazardly, at least in my opinion) classify vegetables into “mild” and “strong” categories, according to their taste. As she explained to me, “mild” vegetables (like baby leeks) should be given before “strong” ones like cabbage, turnip, onions, tomatoes, peppers, eggplant, and parsley. Our friend Laurence, who lives in the south of France, started off serving simple zucchini puree to her babies, then added parsley and tomatoes a few months later. By the time baby Antoine was a year and a half old, eggplant and peppers had been added, the texture had gone from smooth to lumpy, and Antoine was eating something that closely resembled ratatouille.

This list of “strong” vegetables would be daunting to most American parents, but French parents will usually feed these “unusual” vegetables to their children without a second thought. Ever heard of cardoons (cardons)? Neither had I (they’re a kind of artichoke). The Society of French Pediatricians puts them on their recommended list, and you can find them in most French markets. Salsify also features on their list. I had to look this one up too, only to learn it was a plant called Jerusalem star (or vegetable oyster) that I’d never even seen, much less thought of giving to my children.

One thing that is not on the Society of French Pediatricians’ list is a mention of the standard North American protocol:

Start these new foods one at a time, at intervals of every 2 to 3 days. If symptoms such as diarrhea, vomiting, or rash develop, stop immediately and contact your doctor.

When I was a new mom, this kind of statement terrified me. Giving my baby food could cause diarrhea and vomiting? Yikes! As a result, I was extremely cautious. By the time she was one year old, Sophie had been introduced to a relatively small number of vegetables (yam, green peas, potatoes, squash, and carrots), and her diet was heavily reliant on cereals (buttered bread and crackers).

Her cousins, meanwhile, had graduated to leeks, zucchini, and much more. This is typical. By the time they are a year old, French kids are eating a lot of vegetables. They are offered grains and cereals at every meal, but these make up only a relatively small part of their diet. By the time they are two years old and likely to show signs of neophobia or oppositional eating, most French kids have tried (and eaten) more foods than many American adults. This continues into their teens. In the research reports that Christelle sent to me, there were also studies by French nutritionists of food dislikes. I read these with a growing sense of astonishment, as I couldn’t believe how many foods French children had apparently tried. In the Top 20 on the list of “foods I dislike/hate” were things like oysters, beef tongue, cooked endive, turnip, liver, brain (source unspecified), tripe, creamed chestnuts, and kidney. Now, with the possible exception of turnip, many American parents (including me) have not tasted most of these foods, much less introduced them to their children. But French kids are regularly served all sorts of foods and see their parents eating and enjoying them. That’s how they learn to believe in the Golden Rule of French Food: Il faut manger un peu de tout (One has to eat a little bit of everything).

Reflecting on all of this, I became more and more worried. It was now mid-January, and weeks had passed since I had initiated The Plan. My failure had made me feel pretty helpless. For Sophie, in particular, it felt like it was too late. I worried that she was too old (although she had only just turned six). She already hated trying new foods. And I could relate—I didn’t particularly like trying new foods either, despite knowing that expressing a personal food preference was, for the French, the height of bad manners.

Sandrine consoled me by pointing out that Sophie was eating well at the cantine. It was true that lunchtime meals were sometimes the highlight of her day. The week before, just after school had started again after the Christmas break, Sophie had come home from school with her face glowing. “Maman, I got the fève!” (I got the bean!). Seeing the puzzled look on my face, she laughed and explained. The cantine had served a special dessert: the galette des rois. A tiny figurine was hidden in one—but only one—piece. One lucky child at each table would have the piece with the figurine and be the reine (queen) or roi (king) for the rest of the day. Sophie showed me her paper crown and, clutched tightly in her hand, the fève, which was not a bean at all, but rather a tiny porcelain figure of a little queen, complete with crown. Of course! It was the Fête des Rois (the Christian feast day of Epiphany), when children across France eat a special cake served only on this day and delight in the role reversal that accompanies it.

Thinking of Sophie’s story, I realized Sandrine was right. She was ready to start adapting to French Food Rules at home. But I wasn’t sure if I was ready. I still felt overwhelmed. On top of parenting and working full-time, I had to plan my children’s dietary diversification as if I were grooming them to be Michelin-starred chefs? My first thought was to rebel. But the cookbooks were so enticing that I kept opening them. Paging through one of the baby cookbooks one day over my morning coffee, I suddenly thought: Why not take them back to the beginning? They hadn’t tasted all these vegetable purees, but why couldn’t they start now? The more I thought about it, the more excited I got.