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

names embossed on the outside of each bowl in a lovely cursive script. Placemats covered with horses appeared in the house—a gift from Papi, who loved taking the girls for pony rides. These, I hoped, would make the introduction of new foods a lot more fun for the girls.

Still, I was hesitant about actually reinitiating The Plan. What if it failed? A week passed, and I kept putting it off. Part of the reason, I had to admit to myself, was that I myself was rather picky. As a child, I tended to eat just a few favorite things (McChicken sandwiches, grilled cheese with ketchup, and applesauce). As a teenager, I usually microwaved myself some dinner and ate it alone at the table. Our parents ate later, sometimes in front of the TV. Everyone spent a lot of time in separate rooms. I got an after-school job at McDonald’s and later at the local drugstore (but kept eating at McDonald’s). So it was no surprise, I reflected, that I hadn’t introduced the girls to much variety. I didn’t tend to eat a varied diet myself. But the problem was that Sophie and Claire were likely to become hardened neophobes if they didn’t start eating new things, especially given the fact that they hadn’t had the benefit of exposure to eating new things when they were younger.

Nearly a week passed by, and I hadn’t made a single soup. Finally, Janine took matters into her own hands. Unannounced, she showed up late Friday afternoon at the house with a panier full of groceries. “I’m here for dinner!” she said gaily. “Go finish what you were working on!” she insisted, gently shepherding me from the kitchen. A few minutes later, the smell of frying onions wafted from the kitchen. Like most French women, Janine is an excellent cook. What surprised me most about her everyday cooking was how few flavorings, herbs, and spices she used: onions, parsley, garlic, white wine, salt and pepper. With this, Janine managed to produce a miraculous array of dishes, usually in less than half the time it would take me. And both she and the kitchen were always immaculately clean. I envied her no-fuss, no-muss approach and found it slightly mystifying. How could something so simple to prepare taste so good?

Our kids also loved her cooking. “Mamie, ça sent bon!” Sophie exclaimed when I brought the girls home from school. Their goûter was a real treat: Mamie’s favorite. Fresh, still-warm baguettes were sliced into five-inch-long pieces and then slit open lengthwise. Keeping the baguettes almost closed, Mamie spread the insides with salted butter from our local farm (which changed color almost every week, depending on what the cows were eating). Then she took a bar of dark chocolate and split the pieces into little chunks, tucking them one by one into the slit. One end of the baguette was wrapped with a paper towel (so little hands stay clean) and handed over to the eagerly waiting children. Yum!

The trick with this snack, Mamie explained, is that (like a lot of traditional foods served at the goûter) it feels like a treat while actually being quite healthy. Dark chocolate has lots of minerals (like magnesium), and plain bread and butter provide the carbohydrates that active kids need. Importantly, the children weren’t allowed seconds. The relatively high energy density of the food meant that they left the table feeling satisfied, but they’d still be hungry for dinner.

She was right, in part because she waited for two hours before calling them for dinner. Just before 7:00 P.M., the girls were summoned inside. One “À table!” was all it took to bring them running in from the garden.

While they had been outside playing, Mamie had been strategizing about the evening meal. The table had been set with napkins, cutlery, and the girls’ special bowls (the first time they’d seen them). Little menu cards appeared at each place setting. Special Spinach Sauce, I read out loud to the girls, who were looking very curious.

The meal started with the two small bowls appearing on the table, each with a little plate acting as a lid. Sophie leaned closer.

“What’s inside?” I asked, leaning over to take a look. Mamie gently blocked my hands as I reached for the lid. “Let them do it!” she cautioned.

Under the lids were small servings of what looked like dark green sauce with tiny dabs of butter slowly melting into little transparent pools. Whiffs of steam curled up. The girls stared, and then laughed as they realized that the bits of butter were artfully arranged in happy faces, complete with teeth.

“Quick! Let’s eat them up before they disappear! What would you like to eat first? An eye or a tooth?” said Mamie.

Claire went first. Into her mouth popped a buttery eye with a dab of green goo. No reaction. After a moment, out popped a clean spoon. Sophie went next. In popped two buttery teeth with a spoonful of green goo. She hesitantly tried a second spoonful. This time, the clean spoon came out a little faster. Soon, the happy faces had disappeared, and both girls were rapidly digging their way to the bottom of their bowls. As they scraped the bottoms clean, two smiling rabbit faces appeared. They nodded silently and held out their bowls for more.

Mamie’s visit had gotten us off to a good start. “Festive and fun,” I would remind myself, as dinnertime would approach every day. “The table should be the happiest place in the house,” my husband would remind me whenever I got tense about food. And I did get tense, as preparing the meals was an extra effort at what I always felt was the most stressful time of day—late afternoon (what Philippe and I called the “arsenic hour,” and with good reason). Luckily, we were a lot less busy than we would have been back home. Lessons for French kids don’t tend to start until age six or seven. So there were