No Way To Treat A Proper Pain au Chocolat

Don't be fooled by the flowery pink headband and the Hello Kitty Bandaid. This darling child may look innocent but just look at the damage she has inflicted upon this flaky delicate Balthazar Bakery chocolate croissant. She had no interest in its crisp, buttery exterior. No. Not at all. She had only one mission, to get at the chocolate inside. Triumphant, here she holds the remains of her methodical excavation.

Izzy, on the other hand, having made quick business of his croissant, was not above looking over to his friend's plate, hoping to scavenge a few of those uneaten bites.


p.s. Many thanks to L., for bringing a giant bag of Balthazar delights to us this afternoon, without which this incident would not have occurred.

A Second Grade Syrup Tasting: Maple or Aunt Jemima?

Which one was the winner?



I received a call from my dearest friend L. this morning and she recounted the following tale:

In honor of maple syrup season, she paid a visit to her daughter S.'s 2nd grade class to read a story about how maple syrup is made and then conduct a taste test, to see which syrup the children preferred, pitting real maple syrup against Aunt Jemima.

She brought in two unmarked bottles of "syrup" and had each child taste a spoonful of each. Out of 20 students, the disheartening news is that 17 preferred Aunt Jemima over the real maple syrup. They were instantly able to recognize it as the syrup they ate at home and showed a clear preference for it. I did not find this especially surprising, simply disheartening.

After the test, L. explained to the young students that Aunt Jemima did not even have anything maple in it and then she explained why maple syrup was healthier, encouraging them to consider eating the real thing. Even if they don't, at least they have been exposed to it.

What I had to wonder was why so many children were eating Aunt Jemima rather than real maple syrup, particularly in an upper middle class neighborhood where cost might not be a major issue? If fake syrup reigns supreme, clearly the advertisements maligning high fructose corn syrup have failed. Given another demographic, I might entertain the argument that cost was a factor but then in defense of using real maple syrup I would suggest that a little goes a long way and you needn't douse your pancakes or waffles in it but rather drizzle it sparingly on top.

Once again, more evidence to support my mantra "Eat what you love and your children will follow." What they eat is up to you.



P.S. I would love to poll these children years from now as to their syrup preferences. There is certainly hope since I was raised on Aunt Jemima myself and haven't touched the stuff since I started buying my own food.

On Coaxing Children To Eat: In The Classroom

Today I had the pleasure of assisting in Izzy's classroom. The teachers had planned a Thanksgivingesque celebration. There were three stations at which the children prepared three different dishes, ultimately to be eaten for their lunch at a communal table, rather than at separate, small tables as they usually do.

I helped out at the salad station, where the children chopped up carrots, celery, tomatoes and apples. They were also in charge of the fulfilling and age-appropriate task of tearing lettuce into small pieces. Having trained Izzy to use a knife at an early age, I was not quite aware of knife holding protocol for the uninitiated. The teacher demonstrated how the children were to hold the ridged slicer, holding it in one hand while placing the other on top of it, rather than beside it. I wondered how they would have done, had I not seen her demo..Thankfully there were no injuries.

At the cheese and tomato sandwich station they sliced tomatoes and placed them, along with sliced cheese, on small pieces of bread. Perfect jobs for a three- year old to be sure.

At the third station, Miss L., one of their teachers, prepared a Taiwanese sweet potato soup. She helped them grate the sweet potatoes which she then cooked in a rice cooker. I didn't get to see what went into this dish although it looked like simply potatoes, water and maybe some sugar.

Along with food prep, the children were responsible for making place cards with their names on them and setting the table. When the time came to eat, the children were clearly pleased with themselves, though not enough to actually try what they had helped prepare.

I was amazed at how many of the group (about 17), turned down the salad. I would say it was over half, if not more. The soup was an even harder sell. Of course I qvelled when Izzy continued to ask for extra helpings of it but wished the others would at least give it a try. I decided it was time to intervene. As his adorable friend A. was about to toss hers, I stopped her in her tracks. An amusing conversation ensued and the others became engaged as we discussed what would actually happen if she tasted something she didn't like. All eyes were on her and the others who I challenged to taste the soup. And guess what? They did! The friend even admitted it was not as awful as she would have imagined.

The best place to learn healthy, adventurous eating habits is the home. Barring that, teachers certainly can help to model good eating, as they did today. Indeed, modeling is important when it comes to teaching children to eat well, however peer influence can also prove to be quite useful.

As an educator, I have always been interested in measuring the impact of family vs. peer influence. It is so exciting to see how it comes into play in the realm of food.

I look forward to more time spent eating with Izzy and his classmates. Who knows what they might eat!

What Does Manchego Smell Like?

1. Nutty

2. Creamy.

3.Like vomit.

Could it be the answer is a matter of opinion?

My friend R. sent her daughter to school with a snack of aged Manchego and crackers yesterday.

Today at breakfast her daughter M. said, "Mama, the teacher told me my cheese smelled like vomit. She said it was expired." R. could not believe her ears but her daughter repeated the same words. R. immediately called the school. It seems like someone at that school may need lessons in grace and courtesy.

Mr. Picky Pants Rears His Ugly Head

I do love nothing more than to regale you with tales of my snail-slurping, octopus loving, tongue-eating child. Indeed nothing gives me greater pleasure. But let it be known that it isn't always so rosy chez Izzy.

Indeed every so often, Mr. Picky Pants shows up at my dinner table and I must struggle to handle the situation appropriately, so as not to squelch his interest in all kinds of food.

Take tonight. I roasted up one of Izzy's favorite vegetables, butternut squash. But instead of serving leaving well enough alone, I combined it with some sauteed red onion and fresh ricotta cheese, and tossed it with bowtie pasta. I was convinced it was a culinary masterpiece. Izzy thought otherwise.

He ate a few bites of the squash and pushed it away. Then he started eating the bowties and began to complain. "I don't like squash this way. I don't want cheese all over it. It doesn't taste good. I want it the old way." And on and on the litany of complaints went. He only ate about half of the pasta and almost none of the squash before claiming he was done.

I told him he would not be having dessert unless he ate some more. He protested and continued to whine about it. I told him he needed to eat two more bites which he finally agreed to do. He giggled as I teased him a bit about the strange picky eater who landed at our table.

What do you do when a picky eater lands at yours?

Of Kids, Tapas and A Long Beach Island Pearl: An Evening At Sweet Vidalia's

dining: it's all a blur

Another summer season, another reason to test out local Long Beach Island eats.

Last summer we managed to try out several local restaurants and this past week we came across some new ones. Sweet Vidalia's was the most memorable. I remember seeing it in passing last year but never got around to eating there. Thanks to C., it was one of our first experiments of the season. And how sweet it was!

This tapas restaurant has a menu bursting with one mouthwatering selection after another. Since we ordered a number of small plates for the table, we were able to sample several dishes. Each incredible bite had me yearning for another, which was difficult with Izzy trying to polish off everything in sight.

We clearly did not order enough for the table. Despite our server's clear warning to order at least 4 plates per person, we only ordered 11 dishes for the four of us. There were bacon wrapped dates, clams with chorizo, watermelon with fennel and mint, lamb chops, snails with puff pastry, Vidalia onion stuffed with lentil, short ribs (I must have then entire order for myself next time) and a never ending array of tender morsels.

Izzy joyously tucked into each dish, relishing every bite and as I watched him I realized that tapas might very well be the perfect way to introduce a young palate to a variety of flavors. The portions are small so everyone receives a forkful or two of a dish which is the point of the meal. Everyone is tasting and so a child could so easily get caught up in the camaraderie of it all, he/she might be more inclined to try new things.

Sweet Vidalia's 12th St. & Long Beach Blvd., Beach Haven 207-1200

Chickens Of The Sea? Let's See: Preschool Fish Tasting

Summer camp at Izzy's school ("camp"), has gotten pretty fishy. Their in-depth study of the sea has permeated every aspect of their day, including the food.

Last week, parents were asked to prepare a sea-inspired snack for the campers to share. At first I was somewhat disturbed that the kids were being served fish of one kind or another for an entire week, culminating in a fish tasting extravaganza.

If my husband had gotten wind of it he would have had a conniption, ranting about the PCB's and mercury our poor Izzy would be ingesting. Normally I would have ranted myself but I held my tongue in the name of palate expansion.

This "Taste of the Sea Extravaganza" included the following: mini tuna fish sandwiches, roasted seaweed, smoked sardines on crackers, dried marinated squid, sea salt chips, California rolls, seaweed salad and salmon cakes. I was relieved to see that some parents stretched the concept of seafood to include seaweed and sea salt, thereby reducing unhealthy fish consumption.

My contribution was the sardine-spread, to be served on a triscuit-like cracker(a Prune-inspired recipe).

What did the children actually sample? If only I had been a fly on the wall. As Izzy told it, he tried everything and nobody tried the sardine spread, they only ate the crackers. Did I scare them away with the whole fish garnish?

I later found out that two of his friends actually tried the sardine spread.. and liked it. Who knows? Maybe now Izzy will have company when I send him off to school with sardines for lunch.

Scorpions For Snack?: Now These Are My People

Matthew Forney, in his fabulous piece in today's Food Section of the New York Times describes how he and his wife have raised their children to eat everything.  As Americans growing up in Beijing they have had access to an array of exotic foods that boggle the imagination.  From deep-fried scorpions to Tibetan Yak jerky, they eat it all.  Forney and his wife offer superlative advice for raising adventurous eaters.

1.  Breastfeeding is the best way to prepare children for a life of good eating.  "Our kids started off right because she breast-fed them, which "opened their taste buds."  He says he is not sure if this is scientific but I will let him know.  It is.

2. Children will not starve themselves.  If they know they have no choice they will eat what you give them... eventually. "People learn to eat what is available or they starve. Fussiness never enters the picture."

3. Parents and peers are great role models. "My wife who is Italian, makes sure olives and strong cheese reach our table every day, even in China."

4. If you don't keep it in your house, it won't be an option. "Roy and Alice (his children) never faced the snare of microwave pizzas, Cheez Whiz or spaghetti from a can.

Now if only I could get them to come visit and share some those scorpions with Izzy!

A Cook With No Taste (Or Sense Of Smell For That Matter)

No steaming vats of chicken soup arrived on my doorstep despite the kind mention of them by my neighbor D., who feigned performance anxiety for not having made some, and my MIL's offer to drop some by, which I had to turn down since I am in no mood for visitors or talk. Besides, I couldn't allow anyone healthy inside our plague-ridden household.

So I gathered forces to make my own. I defrosted a chicken and used some fresh vegetables that R. had delivered recently. I wasn't going to make "the usual" soup, a la grandma. I was overcome by an urge to make a soup with more of a kick. This must have been brought on by my complete and utter lack of taste or smell. Yes, for a week now, I have been unable to taste or smell my food (which is why you haven't hearing that much about it).

Yes cooking without one's two most important senses can be challenging
Without them, so many fundamental aspects of cooking are just thrown by the wayside.


Was my chicken rotten? How should I know? How about this coconut milk? I have never used coconut milk before. I looked at it longingly and wondered how it tasted. Perhaps it was sweet or rancid. I had to call in Izzy to test. Did the soup smell good? Izzy on the job. And on it went. Cooking became a visual and textural experience, which is of no help to the final product.

Eventually I made a version of Nina Planck's Chicken Coconut Soup recipe.
We all slurped it down but it needed more of everything..not my fault, I couldn't taste. All was not lost for I knew that I was on to a great recipe, definitely worth tweaking and improving.

Tonight I tried again. Izzy said it was much improved and I could feel the hot pepper in the back of my mouth. I also added more ingredients. It looked better and according to Izzy, smelled better too. I still won't reveal my recipe until I can actually taste it myself but give Nina's a try if you are in the market for something a bit spicier and lighter than grandma's version (unless of course your grandma happens to be Thai in which case perhaps you were brought up eating something like it).

Some Bunnies Like Other Food Too: The Velveteen Rabbit And Lunch at Risotteria

Fashioning our own "field-trip", Izzy and I, along with two of his school friends and their mamas, went off to Greenwich Village to see a small production of The Velveteen Rabbit, one of my top ten favorite kids books. Little did I know how much food fodder would result.

The kids were hungry before the performance and were munching on some snacks (with rabbit ears on). Izzy requested yet another snack and J.'s mom pulled out a bag of carrots..perfect for those little bunnies. Izzy and J. appreciated the bunny connection but their friend I. said, "Bunnies like other food too." Especially that particular bunny whose mom describes her as quite the picky eater.

After the wonderfully charming performance, which included original songs and choreography, we were off to lunch. I chose Risotteria, despite Izzy's protests. I figured creamy rice would certainly be pleasing to all. I hadn't counted on the place being full but it was and we were stuck waiting in the bitter cold..It was only a ten minute wait which worked out in the end since I got to have a second weekly stop at Murray's.

Being seated at Risotteria was a new experience as this was our first time dining out with three kids. One is one thing, three is a different story, particularly when they are seated together on a banquette. They were surprisingly well-behaved, considering their propensity for mischief!

In "monkey-see, monkey-do" ordering mode, we all ended up with the same risotto dish, which was shitaake mushrooms, green beans, corn and truffle oil. The portions were ample enough for mother and child to share. They were warm and satisfying on a cold day. The delightfully airy bread sticks placed on the table served not only as amuse-bouches for everyone but later in the meal they morphed into kid entertainment, becoming swords and letters of the alphabet, no crayons necessary.

When the food arrived, Izzy and his friend J., dove zealously into their risotto while their friend I. was more tentative. I could see that it was a new food for her and she was certainly reluctant to try it. However I did note that she observed her classmates and was willing to at least taste it. When her mom spooned some into her mouth, she seemed content to eat it. That is progress, in and of itself!

Lunch lunched, Izzy had other things in mind and was ornery and bouncy on the trip back, thankfully with no incident. Pleased with the overall success of the outing, I would attempt future restaurant meals with three children in tow. You never know what some bunnies might eat!

A Plague Of Brown Fruit

After last week's snack complaints, I sent Izzy off to school this morning with snack for the class, a box of wheat crackers and a lovely basket of Empire apples, fresh from Monday's Union Square Market.

Last night he told me that he wanted to cut the apples himself and serve them to his classmates, the way his teacher had taught them last year. He explained that he wanted to do this so that the apples didn't turn "brown and yucky." Sounded like the perfect solution to me so I mentioned it to his teacher and watched as he carried the apples off to his classroom.

On our way home from school, when I asked him how the apples were, I was more than shocked to hear this. "They were brown and yucky and nobody ate them." Was I missing something? Had I purchased rotten apples? How could perfectly lovely apples, cut to order, have turned brown?

According to Izzy's version, "I don't know what the teachers were thinking." As he told it, they cut the apples long before snack, and then set them out, where they promptly turned brown, making them decidedly unappealing.

From what I understand, the children know (or maybe I assume too much) how to cut the apples with a little apple cutting gizmo. Wouldn't it make sense to have them use it just before they are about to eat one? How can we expect children to eat fruit if it is unappetizing?

Obviously I am overly sensitive to these things (otherwise I would not be writing this blog) but I am saddened by the waste of beautiful fruit. Last year, snack had its proper place in Izzy's classroom. This year I am not sure what to think. Until I get to the bottom of the apple injustice, if I send any fruit again, I will be sure to bathe it in lemon juice.

Yucky Banana Special: Izzy's Snack Rant

Snack tales had simmered down for awhile. Good reports were coming in. Healthy, enticing choices were offered. Izzy was content. And then after school today, Izzy lodged his latest complaints.

Izzy: "We've had the same snack every day. Why do I keep having to eat the same boring snack. Crackers are a boring snack, aren't they Mama?

Me: "I guess so. Maybe nobody signed up for snack duty this week."

Izzy: "I think that's it. The teachers just give us the snack. Boring crackers and cheerios. Oh and yucky cut-up bananas. Why do the teachers need to cut the bananas? Can't they just give them to us whole?

Me: "Why don't you suggest that. Sounds like a good idea. You could cut the banana when you are ready and share it with your friends."

Izzy: "Yes. That would be much better than the Yucky Banana Special. Who wants Yucky Banana Special anyway?"

Me: Well if nobody has signed up for snack next week, would you like me to?

Izzy: "Yes. I want cream cheese and jam sandwiches."

A Very British Christmas

One perk to being Jewish is being invited to someone else's Christmas. After my Thanksgiving debacle and Hanukkah bash, I was more than grateful not to have another holiday meal to prepare.

This year we were invited to my friend H.'s home for her version of a British Christmas. The thought of participating in her Christmas was particularly alluring, especially after H. described some of the dishes she would be preparing. I had all sorts of images of strange fruitcakes, puddings and the like dancing around in my head.

I promptly offered to contribute a dish and somehow ended up in charge of Mince Pies. Now if, several years ago, someone had told me that I would even eat such a dish, let alone prepare it, I would have been shocked as, in my mind, it fell into the category of "awful English food" full of dried fruits, nuts and booze. With the help of Nigella, my mission was easily accomplished (a subject which will surely merit its own post).

My friend led me to believe that her British Christmas would resemble Thanksgiving and in a certain way it did only it was better. For one, she cooked it, not me. But besides that it was full of quirky additions.

Let's start with the turkey. It emerged from the oven perfectly browned and upside down (which didn't seem to phase H. a bit and must certainly be the secret to one of the juiciest, tastiest turkeys I have encountered). The only downside was that the tender, plump breast was not browned which really didn't matter.

As for the sides, there was a cranberry sauce and numerous vegetables. Brussels sprouts with bacon and pine nuts, leeks and courgettes in butter (love this), roasted potatoes, roasted parsnips, peas and carrots..

We began the meal by popping open some Christmas crackers, each one filled with a note and a treat. That may have been slightly diverting but it was dessert time that really took the cake. That was when our gracious hostess presented the Christmas pudding, all aflame, flanked by the mini mince pies, which were in danger of going up in smoke.

When the flames died down, the pudding, with heavy cream, turned out to be a fine dessert better than I would have imagined. After dinner drinks were sipped while we nibbled and all in all it was a swell dinner indeed.

Whoever said the British can't cook or don't eat well need just eat chez H. They will be most pleasantly surprised!

A Veritable Barnyard: Farm Animal Sugar Cookies

I found these cookie cutters at Fishs Eddy years ago and I used to use them to make sugar cookies as holiday gifts for my students at the Lycee Francais, where I taught English to second-graders. I had four classes which was a total of between 65-75 students depending upon the year and they each received two cookies. The cookie baking kept me up til the wee hours as it was no small task.

The reward for all of my work was the fact that those seven and eight year old children appreciated the homemade cookies. They would remark upon their delicate lemon flavor and seemed more grateful than one might imagine.

This year I took the cutters out so that Izzy and I could make some cookies for his teachers and start a yearly tradition.

The recipe I use comes from The Cookie Jar Cookbook, which I have used so often the pages are falling out. These are fragile cookies with a subtle lemon flavor, delightfully buttery and crisp.

Animal Cookies (aka Lambies)

2 cups less 2 tablespoons unsifted all-purpose flour

1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

pinch of salt

1 stick unsalted butter, softened

3/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon granulated sugar

1 large egg

1 1/4 teaspoons vanilla extract

1/2 teaspoon lemon zest.

1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Line two cookie sheets with parchment paper.

2. Sift dry ingredients and set aside.

3. Cream butter and sugar until fluffy.

4. Add egg, vanilla and lemon zest and beat.

5. Gradually add dry ingredients.

6. Remove ball of dough and divide in 4.

7. Put dough between two pieces of waxed paper and roll out. Place in freezer for 15 minutes. Do same with remainder of dough.

8. Remove dough from freezer, one piece at a time. Remove paper, cut out shapes and transfer to cookie sheet.

9. Bake for 8-11 minutes, turning cookie sheets once.

10. Allow to cool and decorate as desired. Or be lazy like me and just sprinkle with confectioner's sugar. I also add one tiny silver dragee as an eye before baking

Meat Doesn't Get More Local or Organic

Unless I kill it myself. Since the likelihood of that is virtually non-existent I have decided to accept the next best thing.

You see, there are advantages to having a "country" brother who lives in rural New Jersey. He has many acres of land upon which graze numerous deer. Although he himself is a vegetarian, he allows hunters on his property. They often offer him part of their bounty which, in the past, he declined. This year, he offered it to me..

At first I felt rather ambivalent about taking the meat. The idea of hunting bothers me. Even though I feel no qualms about eating farm-raised meats, the hunted variety provoked ugly imagery. I have an unfortunate picture of hunters as blood-thirsty, gun-toting rednecks and wasn't sure I could support that. On the other hand, the idea of adding part of a deer to my freezer full of lamb, was infinitely appealing. My brother helped me decide. Turns out that this recently published article, Locavore Get Your Gun, would have been even more persuasive.

My brother G. explained that the hunters on his property use bows and arrows and that hunting deer is a reasonable way to control the ever-burgeoning deer population. His argument, along with memories of venison meals eaten in Paris, convinced me to accept the offer.

So the day came a few weeks ago when my brother called to say that he would be delivering the goods to my door step. I had no idea what to expect. What I got was several packages wrapped in plain white paper and labeled in black like this one...
I put the packages in the freezer and haven't gone near them until yesterday. I decided it was time to experiment so I defrosted the stew meat. When I explored potential recipes, I discovered that I was lacking many of the recommended ingredients but figured I could whip up something reasonably simple.

I marinated the chunks of meat in red wine with shallots, thyme, and bay leaf, hoping for the best. After eight hours in the marinade, I seared the chunks of venison in olive oil and set aside. Then I sauteed onions, carrots, and shallots, seasoned with thyme, salt and pepper. I added 1/2 lb. of shiitake mushrooms, sauteed 5 minutes more and then returned meat to the pot and added a cup or so of red wine and a cup of water. I brought this to a boil and allowed to simmer for 1 1/2 hours. I served this on a bed of bowtie pasta ( for lack of a better noodle around the house) and sprinkled with coarse salt. It was a warm, comforting meal on a cold night.

Izzy was a most accommodating assistant, and for the first time, wielded the tongs to remove the meat from the pot. He also sauteed the vegetables, stirring them so that they wouldn't stick. He was intent upon inspecting the raw meat, asking questions about the blood, though that is another story.

I was quite pleased with my first foray into the world of venison (as was Izzy who had three helpings, not to mention his papa who ate the rest of the pot) but next time hope to add a greater complexity of flavors to the dish.
There is much more to be said about venison which is so different in flavor and texture from other meats. I will regale you with tales from cookbooks and the like soon or during my next venison experiment.

This Smells Funny...

Would you taste it? Of course I would because it goes without saying that stinky foods require a second opinion. I know this because growing up, the following scenario was all to familiar to me:

My grandma, mother or stepmother would remove the milk, cream or whatever from the fridge, open it, sniff and then ask whoever was loafing about the kitchen to give it a sniff or taste. Makes perfect sense to me. What if their olfactory senses were just not working to full capacity that morning? What if they already had an "off" aroma from something else. I was always more than happy to help out, which saved milk from being poured down the drain.

For years now, I have been unable to get any help in this realm; married as I am to a man who cannot conceive of the idea of sniffing potentially rancid dairy products (What happened during his formative years? Was he served sour milk and expected to drink it?) Whenever I ask my husband to sniff or taste, he regards me as if I were crazed and replies, "Why would I need to taste that if you think it stinks? Do I need to get sick too?" Now I ask you, is it really going to harm him to take one little whiff? What is the big deal?

The sniffing and whiffing of my youth took place in the days of the milkman, when milk didn't really last for more than a few days anyway. With ultra-pasteurized milk available, milk seems to last for an inordinate amount of time, as do other dairy products, but they eventually do turn, which is when the sniff test is necessary, which hasn't been that often.

All this changed once I started buying raw dairy products. Now I find myself sniffing, whiffing and sampling daily to reassure yourself that the milk, cream or butter has not turned sour or rancid.

What I have discovered is that often, when there is an off aroma, it is just a small amount of cream that has congealed at the mouth of the bottle but the contents within are still fine. I discovered that I am not the only one who dares serve potentially rotten goods to her family. At least now I have Izzy to confirm whether our dairy supply is fresh or rotten. He is more than happy to serve as the resident nose, sniffing every product on demand.

Dinner At The Mall? Not At All...

At least not if I have anything to do with it. You see although I went through a mall-rat phase in my pre-teen years, I now can't bear the places.

And the idea of eating in the one ? Unimaginable, despite those years of scarfing down the delights of Chick-Filet (is that the name?). We do live just steps from a rather large mall that we often need to walk navigate on our way from here to there. Other than that and the occasional last minute gift, I try to stay away.

So tonight, when my friend H. mentioned that she was planning on taking her girls out to the mall to have dinner, I had to intervene. She said she didn't feel like cooking and it was on their way home. Before she had mentioned the mall, I had thought we might join them. After declining the offer, I hung up the phone and felt somewhat remorseful. It seemed sad that I would let terrible food get in the way of a friendly dinner.


It only took a couple of minutes for me to offer the solution. I would just make an impromptu dinner for them. My fast food had to be better than the mall fare, right? So I just boiled up some water. I made the simplest pasta with tomato sauce, green salad on the side. Izzy chose the tri-color fiore shape, which he had selected from the supermarket.

Everyone was a winner. Izzy was happy to eat with his friends. H. didn't have to cook and I didn't have to suffer through a mall supper.

(Olive) Bread and Jam For Izzy

Bread and Jam For Frances is one of Izzy's and my favorite storybooks. If you haven't read this story with your child, start now. The way Frances' parents handle picking eating is priceless and, I might add, astonishingly effective. We have been reading it since Izzy was tiny and I am convinced it has helped him learn the possible consequences of being a picky eater.

Izzy does adore bread and jam but thankfully not to the exclusion of all else. In fact, yesterday he created his own spin on it, requesting olive bread with butter and jam. Certainly seemed like an outlandish combination to me but he insisted I give it a try and it did have certain appeal. Salty, buttery and sweet. It certainly is an easy snack to keep around the house. Hey, if it works for him, it works for me!

Helzel: It's All About The Neck

My grandparents spoke Yiddish while I was growing up. It was their secret language, used when they didn't want us to know what they were talking about. Long after I was supposed to be asleep, I could hear their hushed voices out in the den, their conversations punctuated with the words "ze kinder" (the children), a sure-fire tip-off that they were discussing something relating to my brothers and me.

Their English conversations were peppered with Yiddish words were often food-related and I can just hear my grandpa discussing the "helzel" (neck) around Thanksgiving or whenever it was we had some chicken or turkey necks stewing about the house. I was fond of the helzel and particularly relished prying out the bits of meat in between its tiny bones. It was tender and soft and now I imagine it would make some fine rillettes. Turkey rillettes? Do those exist? If not, they should but I digress.

When I went to purchase my turkey this year, I made sure to ask for an extra neck and some wings so that I would have an intensely flavorful turkey stock for the gravy. In fact, the highlight of my Thanksgiving preparations was making this broth, which piqued Izzy's interest in necks of all kinds.

He watched as I removed the neck, wings and giblets from the broth and when he saw me nibbling at the neck meat, he immediately followed suit. There we sat, just picking away at it, Flintstone style. As he nibbled he asked, "What part of the turkey is this?" I told him it was the neck and then discussion turned to necks in general. I didn't think that he could actually conceive of what he was eating and I wanted him to have a more concrete idea.

Short of taking him to a farm to watch turkeys or chickens, the best I could do was show him a video. And I knew just where to turn. I have just recently discovered Ms. Glaze, a fetching young woman who lives, cooks and blogs in Paris. Her blog features a few video clips, one of which has her explaining how to debone a chicken, head and neck included. What better introduction could there be to how animals become food?



I had no idea how he would react to the viewing so we sat to watch it together. He was simply captivated by the entire experience, especially since we have no t.v. and he has limited access to websites and such. He immediately requested a second viewing and his since watched it almost 10 times.

Does this mean he will be an expert at deboning a chicken some day? Or does he merely like watching Ms. Glaze? Whatever the case may be I am happy to indulge his interest in helzels and Ms. Glaze. But I do have to be careful. I left him alone with Ms. Glaze tonight and when I returned he had tuned in to her sausage-making video. "Mama, can we make our own sausage?"

Why Why No Pumpkin Pie??? (aka: Not Pumpkin People)

A giant pumpkin sits, lonely and forlorn, left over from Halloween. But don't expect to see it turn into a pie on my Thanksgiving table. I just can't do it. Why? Perhaps I lack the pumpkin-pie gene. Or, more likely, I was not exposed to the pumpkin pie flavors at a tender age, thereby never developing a taste for it.

My anti-pumpkin pie sentiment was spurred on by the lively discussion going on over at Serious Eats. Ed Levine is of the mindset that nobody really likes pumpkin pie (since he doesn't) and readers have been weighing in. Now I don't much care for it myself but I have encountered many a pumpkin pie lover and I certainly have my own theories as to how they came to be.

Simply put, it all goes back to one's ancestry..or if not there, then the childhood Thanksgiving table. Take me for example..Coming from a Russian-Jewish background, pumpkin pie did not figure into my family's repertoire. Not that we had much of a grand Thanksgiving tradition going on around our house anyway, but one thing I know, pumpkin pie was not a player. Aside from a dryish turkey, I have no idea what we ate. My grandmother was in charge of Thanksgiving and as a daughter of recent Russian-Jewish immigrants, she wasn't well-versed in the ways of the pumpkin. I imagine we had apple-pie or something from the local kosher bakeshop. I managed to live my entire childhood without any exposure to pumpkin pie flavors or textures and therefore they never made it into my taste imprint.

Now let's take my husband, on the other hand, who was born into a family who arrived here not much later than the Mayflower. His ancestors were well-versed in the ways of the pumpkin.. He must have pumpkin spices pulsing through his genes. I am sure he grew up with pumpkin pie on his bib and it is one of the few desserts he will agree to eat. It would seem that no Thanksgiving with his family is complete without an array of pies on the table, including the quivery pumpkin.

As long as we celebrated with his family, this never posed a problem. It was only when I began to prepare the meal that I found myself in a bit of a quandry. I did not have the time or inclination to prepare several desserts but wished to please everyone. I couldn't only make my favorites. What was a nice Jewish girl to do?

Then, a few years ago, I stumbled upon this marvelous melding of Jewish/Wasp cuisine:the Pumpkin Cheesecake.... The combination renders the pumpkin infinitely more appealing and delightful than any pie ever could. This incarnation turns the quivery pumpkin creamy and mutes the bold, pumpkiny flavors so that I can finally embrace them.

Stay-tuned for a bit more on Pumpkin-Cheesecake..The baking and conclusion..