Another Super-Exciting Post About What We Ate This Week, Oh My GOD

(So it's come to this. Oh, blogging. The world had such high hopes for you!)

Despite the now-documented existence of ZOMBIE BETCHTABULS, Ezra continues to blow my tiny little mind with his love of salad. And Noah continues to glare tiredly at me, meal after meal, because he is NOT RELATED TO THAT FREAK OVER THERE. THE ONE EATING RAW LETTUCE LEAVES. 

So meal planning continues to be a delicate dance o' Food Tetris — Child A will eat this but not that, Child B will eat that but not this. Child C is a wildcard, accepting and rejecting foods randomly and capriously like a total freaking jerk.

Meanwhile, Jason and I would also, you know, like to eat things that we like. And to eat things that are healthy-to-healthy-ish, but are satisfying enough to curb the 10 pm cravings for ALL THE CARBS IN THE HOUSE. And can it not take a million hours to make? Also, please include some free diamonds and a unicorn, while we're making requests. 

We have had some successes, though. Noah discovered that he likes carrots. Cooked carrots, anyway, and carrots that have been glazed in butter and maple syrup. Which...okay, maybe not the biggest nutrition win in the world but I will take it. He calls them "fruit carrots," and I will take that as well. Especially since he gamely tried and roundly hated all of the following:

• Cantaloupe <--- WHAT
• Grapes <--- ARE YOU HUMAN
• Strawberries <--- SERIOUSLY I AM ASKING
• Kiwi <--- okay the seeds are kind of weird
• Cauliflower browned in sesame oil with a little sea salt <--- FINE KID MOAR FOR MEEEE

But! Buuuuut! He also ate these turkey burgers and these bison burgers, despite them being completely chock full of things that could be picked out. And despite them being BURGERS, which he refused to have anything to with for about 80% of his life. (He would eat the bun, maybe, and only if he could pick off any microscopic flecks of any evidence that it came in contact with the burger patty.) After a dubious breakthrough involving a McDonald's cheeseburger last year, I of course tried to get him to eat burgers at home, but was informed that my homemade burgers were not McDonaldsy enough, either in taste or appearance. 

What changed? I bought a package of slider buns. 

And my kids were TOTAL SUCKERS for those slider buns. They were so excited about the stupid tiny buns that they didn't even notice or care that we'd put beans in the burgers. Beans! TEXTURE MADNESS YOU GUYS.

(The recipe calls for kidney beans, which we did not have. I used cannelini instead and they were delicious. Thanks to basically being raised at a Chipotle, Ezra and Ike actually like plain beans, so I just served the rest of the can as a side for them with some olive oil and seasonings.)

Two nights later they were STILL so excited about the stupid tiny buns that they didn't even notice or care that we'd put DICED JALAPENO in the burgers.

I think I shall write my own book about how to get kids to eat. I shall call it "Stupid Tiny Buns" and it will be exactly three pages long. 

Chapter One: Buy Yourself Some Stupid Tiny Buns

Chapter Two: Put Stuff on the Stupid Tiny Buns

Chapter Three: PROFITTTT

Now I want try some veggie burgers on the Stupid Tiny Buns because I can't leave well enough alone. I will up this goddamn burger ante to antes previous un-upped. (Anyone have a good recipe? Preferably one with lots of beans and lentils since I THINK that would have a higher chance of acceptance? Of course now that I've put that in writing...)

For the record, and in the interest of full disclosure, this one would not even TRY the bison burger, despite loving the turkey version. He ate some tomato and two Stupid Tiny Buns. Luckily he is cute and obviously not wasting away to a carb-based nothing.

Salad Days

About two months ago, Ezra randomly announced that he loved salad. I believe his exact words were, "Salad? I LOVE salad!"

(Note that no one was even eating salad at the time. But such is The Ezra, The Neverending Mystery of Weird.)

I also believe that prior to that announcement, he had never willingly taken a bite of anything that would traditionally be considered "salad" in his entire life. 

Ezra, as you know, has always been a good eater — though prone to fickle fits of pickiness just like any toddler and preschooler, rejected previously loved foods for no real reason other to drive his mother to (more) drink — but...lettuce? Plain raw vegetables that have not been doused in cheese or purposely hidden inside of something more acceptable? Or basically any vegetable that is not a pea, a carrot or a sweet potato? It seemed like a stretch, even for him. 

But sure enough, a couple nights later we made these Asian turkey lettuce wrap things that Jason and I go for when we cannot bear the thought of another goddamned taco night. The kids all like the filling, which we usually serve over rice or noodles for them. This time, Ezra grabbed a lettuce leaf and tore into it, then spooned the filling into a second leaf and ate that. 

"Salad!" he announced again. "I LOVE salad!"

WHAT.

Next came a lunch out at an unremarkable chain restaurant in a nearby mall — one of those dubiously unhealthy places that includes a lone, sad, sure-to-be-rejected-by-90%-of-children vegetable with the kids' meals, alongside the salty chicken fingers and greasy french fries. It was broccolini. Ezra picked it up and asked what it was.

"It's salad," I said.

"Salad? I LOVE salad!" he responded, and proceeded to eat the entire serving. 

WHAT THE WHAT.

So I took him grocery shopping and set him loose in the produce department. (Complete with a mini-shopping cart that the store provides, which is both adorable and nerve-wracking, as my kids careen around towering soup displays and strangers' shins, bumper-cart style.) After loading up on his usual favorite fruits, he demanded to see the "salad."

He grabbed cucumbers, kale, broccoli, bok choy, red peppers and asparagus by the time I finally convinced him to move on. We had to save some money and cart space for cheese and pasta products like NORMAL PEOPLE, i.e. his brothers, who were probably never going to help us make a dent in all that green stuff.

A store employee stopped Ezra a few aisles over and complimented his vegetable-laden cart, and asked if he was really going to eat all that kale.

"It's SALAD," he corrected her. "And I LOVE salad."

The employee then tried to compliment me, but I was all, "Dude, I had nothing to do with any of this. If my oldest child saw that cart he'd probably burst into telekinetic flames of vitamin-deficient rage."

To be fair, Noah has gotten much, much better about food — he can now tolerate and even enjoy certain meats and fish, and he'll also accept peas and sweet potatoes. Ike falls somewhere in the middle; he's not as sure-fire adventurous as Ezra but not nearly as picky as Noah. (But definitely at the age of the preference for All White Foods and random rejections of previous favorites, just cuz, Mom, just cuzzzz.) He'll either eat three servings of dinner or nothing at all; we just never really know. 

Some of Noah's eating issues definitely stemmed from his early oral motor delays and sensory problems, absolutely. But I admit it was COMPLETELY our fault that they went on as long as they did, because I got tired of meals being such a goddamn pain in the ass all the time. So I made Noah a separate meal a lot, and then told myself it wasn't so bad because I at least made sure that meal was as healthy as possible. Lots of hidden vegetable purees hidden inside pasta sauces, homemade nuggets with bean puree and whole-grain breading with almonds, a fruit-and-vegetable smoothie on the side, blah blah hippiecakes.

But the end result was basically that I spent a ton of time and cooking effort making sure that Noah would never, ever willingly try anything new. And I realized that I was also potentially blowing it with Ezra, who WAS good-natured about new foods, who would pick at his macaroni-and-cheese during the kids' shift and then skulk around the table while Jason and I enjoyed our adults-only dinner later, asking for bites of steak or fish. Some of those good eating habits were starting to disappear as he mimicked his brother, and there were entire months when the only "vegetable" he'd touch was ketchup.

So a few years ago, pre-Ike, we went Full Satter and never looked back. (Seriously, BUY THIS BOOK.) The boys ONLY get a separate kid-friendly meal during the week if Jason or I have to work late and it's unreasonable to make them wait. (Luckily that doesn't happen too often.) Most of the time they eat what we eat, though sometimes slightly adapted for spice or we make a side dish we know they'll like in case the main course gets rejected. 

It really helped Noah a LOT, as tough as it was to implement at first. But sticking with Satter's rules and plan was how we got him to eat crazy-ass things like...meatballs. Pork chops. Non-nugget chicken and fish. Peas and sweet potatoes in a mostly straightforward form. 

(Though in the interest of full food-snob disclosure, I must give credit where credit is due for Noah's acceptance of meat: It was a McDonald's cheeseburger, which he was willing to try thanks to the power of the Happy Meal TV advertising borg. He loved it, and ended up being a huge turning point for him. WHATEVS, I'LL TAKE IT.)

Sorry for the Food Doctrine Tangent there, but I bring it up only so you can possibly understand what I was facing with Ezra's shopping cart full o' greenery. Seriously, KALE? WTF was I going to do with kale that wouldn't cause a full-on dinner table meltdown from the other two?

(And don't say kale chips. I've made kale chips. I've eaten other people's kale chips. They taste like slightly crunchy tissues made out of pencil shavings and even Ezra won't eat them.) 

But you know what? It's been a pretty marvelous couple months around here, since the Great Salad Pronouncement. It snapped us out of a weeknight dinner rut that I hadn't even realized we'd fallen into. We take Ezra shopping with us almost every trip now and let him explore the produce department or farmer's market, and then come home and tackle whatever he picks out. 

***

(Can I go full recipe nerd on you? Yes? No? Well no matter because I'm asking that question from the past, while I was still typing this trainwreck and therefore I CAN'T HEEEEAAAARRR YOOOOOUUU.)

(Also note that while, yeah, we TRY to eat healthy and organic and stuffs, we do not fear The Butter or The Carbs or The Gluten or The Spice or...well, much of anything. Except kale chips, maybe.)

Fettuccine with Sausage & Kale: I guess this is kind of an obvious cop-out, basically turning the kale into a pesto and serving it with pasta, but I'm claiming this one as a WIN because Noah predictably freaked at the sight of "green stuff" and wanted to pick it off. That proved impossible and eventually he caved and ate it. And loved it. We make it with chicken or turkey sausage and the whole meal takes 30 minutes start to finish. 

Salmon "Bulgogi" with Bok Choy & Mushrooms: I literally have no words for how good this dish is, or how ridiculously easy it is to make. Ezra loves the garlicky bok choy, both he and Ike shockingly love the mushrooms, and Noah will at least eat the fish. Jason and I eat all of it, plus seconds.

Ratatouille's Ratatouille: I'm pretty sure I've mentioned Smitten Kitchen's amazing ratatouille before, but I admit it was usually more of a meal for Jason and I, while the kids ate whatever carbohydrate we chose to serve it with. But now I realize just how lazy that was. I just needed to add a couple additional steps. Step One: Watch Ratatouille. Make a big deal over how cool and yummy Remy's ratatouille looks. Step Two: Make this version immediately. Step Three: Get your kids to help arrange the vegetable slices and put it in the oven. Serve over couscous, polenta or pasta without fear — it's soft and saucy enough to mimic a regular tomato sauce so your kids won't realize they should probably pitch a fit over shit like EGGPLANT and ZUCCHINI. Plus you can pretend that a rat made your dinner. 

Salmon Cakes with Lemon Yogurt Sauce: We first tried this one a long time ago in hopes that a kid who eats meatballs or burger patties could be tempted to eat a small crunchy/yummy fish cake. Results were actually pretty good, and the yogurt sauce is EXCELLENT for dipping bite-sized bits of steamed or raw vegetables (asparagus, cucumber, carrots, etc.), if you've got a kid who can be tempted that way. (Ezra and Ike are mad dippers and will eat anything slathered in a condiment. Noah not so much — I usually default to steaming a small bowl of peas as well). The best part about this recipe is that you don't have to use "good" salmon, but can grab the cheaper frozen filets like Trader Joe's sells.

Chicken with Asparagus, Spring Onions & Parsley-Tarragon Gremolata: Sounds so fancy and complicated, no? Except that it's totally not. Saute some chicken in a pan. Take chicken out of pan, saute some spring or green onions and asparagus in the same pan. Top chicken with some chopped herbs and citrus zest. You can leave out the fancy saffron and swap milk or half & half for the heavy cream. Or don't! Knock yourself out. I ain't gonna be mad. I can't promise that your kids will eat the asparagus, but if they at least like basic plain chicken there is nothing here that will offend them. Plus more asparagus for you. Unless you invite Ezra over. Then you will get none. 

Mini Chicken & Broccoli Pot Pies: Hands down, the most successful family dinner I have attempted in...well, ever. EVERYBODY lost their tiny little minds over these, myself included. The kid-sized pies were so irresistible and fun that nobody gave a SHIT that there was broccoli inside. Next time I make these I'm totally going to push my luck and see if I can sneak some peas and carrots in there too, or maybe some chopped spinach. The recipe calls for using frozen pie crusts and a store-bought rotisserie chicken as shortcuts; we made our own crust since our regular grocery store only carries brands full of partially hydrogenated oils and other unpronounceable crap and I didn't feel like making a special trip somewhere else. You can also use any kind of leftover chicken or just grill up a cutlet real quickly. They were pretty. Damn. Yum. 

***

The funny thing is, as much as Ezra enjoyed all of the above meals, he still not-so-secretly prefers when I simply put the vegetables in a bowl and let him go to town on them. So I usually sneak him a serving or two while we cook. Because. You know. 

Salad.

He LOVES salad.

Rock Out With Your Kraut Out

This post is sponsored by Kraut Rocks

I've written about the semi-complicated process of sponsored posts. I love them, I need them, I also kind of fear them because I tend to overthink them. What if the client hates it? What if you guys hate it? Cue the self-doubt-fueled writer's block gaaaaahhhhhhhhh.

But then sometimes a sponsored post comes along that involves hanging out with an old friend, gossiping, drinking beer and cooking mussels and hot dogs and sauerkraut over an open flame on a bar counter wait WHAT.

There's a month-long sauerkrautaganza going on in D.C. right now called Kraut Rocks. Top Chef's Spike Mendolsohn is the host and several other local chefs are featuring their take on sauerkraut on their menus. I was asked to write a post about it. 

Amy's Mouth: Sure! Why not?

Amy's Brain: Why not? You mean other than the little fact that you don't particularly like sauerkraut? 

Amy's Wallet: QUIET, YOU FOOL.

At first I thought maybe I would do a cooking demonstration of my own, or we could visit one of the participating restaurants and photograph me attempting to gain a new appreciation of sauerkraut the superfood, but then when I saw the final list of chefs I remembered that OH YEAH, THIS HAPPENED. 

"This" = appearing as a judge on an episode of Throwdown With Bobby Flay, once a upon a time, a long time ago, in a galaxy far far away where I only had ONE CHILD and was only about 10 weeks pregnant with Ezra. 

As I (repeatedly) mentioned in my posts about it, Throwdown judges are punked right along with the local chef. In our case, the local chef was Teddy Folkman of Granville Moore's. We've been buds ever since. 

(You may also remember him — or a totally unfairly edited, pretty much fictional version of him — from The Next Food Network Star. He's shrugged that one off; I still get rage-face-y over it. SHUT UP TELEVISION YOU ARE FULL OF LIES.)

ANYWAY.

(Holy cats, this is the longest wind-up ever, no?)

Teddy seemed like 1) the perfect person to re-introduce me to the wonders of the kraut, and 2) the perfect opportunity to get paid for doing something I'd totally do for free. 

In this case, consume some alcohol and then come dangerously close to setting my hair on fire.

(Look at those percentages. LOOK AT THEM.)

(Look at how well this could end. LOOK AT IT.)

Teddy, being awesome AND a fairly regular, long-time reader of this very blog, came up with a pantry-raid idea for our little cooking experiment. He grabbed a ton of typical kid-friendly ingredients and other stuff most of us are likely to have on hand, and proceeded to explain that you could make a broth for mussels (his specialty) with just about all of them. 

Right down to the dehydrated cheese packet in a box of macaroni-and-cheese.

(Cook milk, butter and shredded real cheese with powdered cheez product, add mussels, serve over the pasta and favorite chopped herbs.)

It was like an episode of Chopped. Only drunk. 

Then he put me to work on our Frankenkraut creation.

My crowning contribution to the proceedings: I can chop hot dog coins like nobody's bizness, yo. 

He offered to let me actually cook the mussels, at which point I put down the knife and laffed and laffed, because dude. I like you. I really don't want to burn your restaurant down.

So, into the pan went:

Butter

Sage

Hot dogs

Sauerkraut

Spicy mustard

An apple juice box

Beer (a pilsner)

And mussels.

...

You guys.

YOU GUYS. 

AH NOM NOM NOM.

These suckers smelled amazing. The sauerkraut broth? So full of win. I loved it. I am totally stealing it. I am brining my Thanksgiving turkey in it. I am going on a sauerkraut recipe bender AND NO ONE CAN STOP ME. 

KRAUT ROCKS!

*drops mic*

Here's a video of Teddy making another version of kraut mussels and then drinking beer with Spike, Mike Isabella and Ryan Wheeler. So basically a recreation of our cooking session, only with more talent and dignity.

(Locals can actually order this dish at Granville Moore's this month...the rest of you GET IN THE KITCHEN AN' MAKE ME SUM MUSSELS)

Giveaway! Check out the recipes and pick a favorite. Tell me which it is and win a $100 prize pack (t-shirt, coffee mug, one of those beer steins from the video that I am TOTALLY COVETING and a restaurant gift card).

Stupid Girl Does a Stupid Thing, Part Two

I woke up on day two of the godforsaken motherfucking juice cleanse fully expecting to feel sub-human. I'd read at least a dozen bloggers' experiences with three-day cleanses and it seemed like day two was the day you broke out, leached toxins out your liver and fingernails, sprouted gills and breathed fire...you know, stuff like that. Especially since prevailing pseudo-wisdom seems to be that the more "toxic" you are when you start, the worse you feel as your body rids itself of all the toxins and garbage and the persistent coating of congealed Velveeta in your colon. 

So I was surprised to realize that I felt totally fine. I didn't even feel hungry. Maybe it wasn't working? Maybe it was all a load of horseshit, perhaps? (IMAGINE THAT!)

Either way, I was determined to go on, if only to have something to blog about. FOR THE BLOG! TO THE JUICE!

Day two started out much, much easier. It helped that I had that dermatologist appointment to suck up most of the morning and keep my mind off the clock-watching and idle-snack-obsessing. (Getting your Rare Congenital Ear Lump photographed by the Inventor of Accutane does make for a pretty amusing morning.) I didn't miss coffee, didn't feel headache-y or lightheaded or anything like that. I also did not experience any of the — ahem — gastrointestinal side effects many people describe. (Sure was peeing a lot, though, lawdy.) And the juices all tasted bizarrely, insanely delicious. I AM JUICE CLEANSE MASTER, SAVE FOR THAT ONE THING WITH THE RUBBER-PIZZA-CHEESE SHHHHH. 

Though once again, the late afternoon began to drag. And drag. Especially with nothing to look forward to than that blasted horrid-tasting coconut water. (You know your brain has gone 'round the crazy bend when you start thinking, DAYUM, I could sure go for some more cucumber-and-kale juice instead of coconut water, yo.)

And despite my plan to drink the "dinner" juice earlier, I got distracted with the kids and kind of forgot, and by the time I realized it I had fully morphed into a Grump Monster.

And I'm not kidding. You guys, I was AWFUL. Everything set me off. EVERYTHING. I snapped. I scolded. I yelled. 

(In my defense, my kids were behaving a little extra turd-y and screechily fighting over EVERYTHING, but instead of like, coming up with a suitable distracting activity or sending them outside, I simply tried to referee uselessly from the couch, and then blamed THEM for my uselessness.)

The worst moment came when I realized Ezra had abandoned a nearly-full milk box behind the couch in the living room, which Ike had found and upended, causing a GIANT FLOOD of milk all over the floor (and himself). And I lost it. Lost my temper, my cool, my entire grip on reality and perspective. 

I know a lot of mothers have had that moment when you realize you need to excuse yourself and spend a few moments staring at your horrible, angry, snarled-up face in the bathroom mirror, counting to 10 or 100 or 1000. But let me tell you, it adds a whole new level of shame and guilt when you're locked in there with a $9 spinach/kale/romaine/celery juice-thing, knowing that you just lost your shit at a three-and-a-half-year-old because you're purposely depriving yourself for nebulous, questionable reasons. 

I eventually emerged from the bathroom and tearfully apologized to both Ezra and Noah. They both seemed to already be Over It and unfazed (such is the impotence of my fury, I suppose), but I'm still not, even two days later. Boys — and especially Ezra — if you ever get bored enough to go back and read this crap: I am so, so sorry. There was no excuse for me to yell at you like that. I hope you forgive me, because I was a total asshole. 

And once again, the instant I drank the "dinner" juice (or whatever you want to call it), my world and mood were righted, and I felt fine. FINE. I was a Juice Cleanse Werewolf, who needed to be locked away in solitude between the hours of 3 and 5 pm, at which point I could emerge and not be completely batshit insane. 

After we put the kids to bed I curled up on the couch with the almond milk and watched — what else? — The Hunger Games. 

Next: Day three. And yes, there was a day three, and it was real and it was SPECTACULAR. (Also kind of anti-climactic.) 

Stupid Girl Does a Stupid Thing, Part One

At some point last week, I got it into my head that I wanted to try one of those three-day juice cleanse things. And by "wanted" I mean, "wanted to spout idle Big Talk about possibly trying one of those three-day juice cleanse things, because come on." 

Our time at the beach was a week-long experiment in testing the limits of just how much garbage the human body can consume. Results: A LOT. After seven days of nothing but heavily processed cheese, carbs, sugar, meat and booze, I was desperately craving a salad and felt an acute need to just...reset. (Also: the scale. FUCK YOU SCALLLLLLE.)

And so I convinced myself that a juice fast was just the fad-thing I needed to undo some of the damage and start fresh. 

Three days + 18 jars of juice (plus three "shots" of beet juice and one ginger) = the weirdest and possibly dumbest impulse buy of my life. 

I hauled it all home from a fancy local juice bar that I had never even set foot in before, arranged it neatly in our basement fridge...and then stared at it for awhile, while the imminent expiration dates mocked me, as there was no putting it off. We're not pasteurized, bitch! What have you gotten yourself into NOW? 

DAY ONE

Day one started out bright and full of promise. I was shocked to find that I did not hate the first juice (a blend of water, lemon, cayenne and coconut), and that it was actually a decent replacement for coffee, since it was tart and bracing. CLEARLY I WAS GOING TO ROCK AT THIS. 

Juice two was a cucumber...thing, and gave me my first real inkling of what I was in for. In my puny brain, I guess I'd been envisioning something thicker and more substantial, like three days of fruit-and-vegetable smoothies. 

No. It's juice, you idiot. Watery, texture-less, completely liquid juice. 

"Shiiiiiit," went my puny brain.

I carefully spaced the drinks out every two hours, as instructed, and found myself in a logic war with my stomach. My "breakfast" is typically nothing more than a pot of black coffee, and I don't usually eat lunch until well after noon, after the kids are done with theirs and the sitter leaves. So it wasn't like I was replacing a daily smorgasbord of pancakes and eggs benedict with juices. And yet after two juices I was STARVING. I mean, I wasn't really, but I was OBSESSING. 

"Lunch" was a carrot juice, which was thankfully thicker than the first two but still woefully lacking in TEXTURE to CHEW. It was filling, at least, but my stomach just felt...bored. GIVE ME SOMETHING TO DO!, it seemed to growl. I HAVE NOTHING TO NOM! THIS IS BULLSHIT!

I tried to focus on work but felt kind of sluggish and spongy, mostly because I was only half a day in and already discouraged that there was no way I'd ever make it three days without bailing. I didn't feel pure and natural and pumped full of raw, accessible vitamins — I felt cranky and hungry and wanted to be left alone with a goddamn bag of string cheese. 

I hit the lowest point around 3 pm. The sitter had left around 1, I was still trying to finish work I'd been unable to complete that morning thanks to my brain fog, and the kids were all lively and awake and demanding entertainment. I started to feel a little lightheaded and in desperate need for a nap, and juice number four was coconut water and I learned that I FUCKING HATE COCONUT WATER. It was the first one that I honestly had a hard time getting down. You people, with the coconut water? With the VOLUNTARY coconut water? I do not get you, you people. 

After awhile I stuck it back in the fridge and switched to regular water, then made some sad, cleanse-friendly "tea." Hot water, a little lemon and a small bit of the ginger shot. At this point I was so desperate for ANY variety of ANY kind that even the switch to hot water was like, total amazeballs. And I found if I added enough ginger juice it became super spicy, which made my bored-as-hell tastebuds happy. YOU GOT US SOME WATER SALSA YAAAAYYYYY!

But basically, the hours of 3-5 pm on day one were the worst. I wasn't experiencing any of the "detox" symptoms I'd braced myself for (especially since I'd done NOTHING to prepare for the cleanse, like eliminating caffeine/meat/dairy/alcohol in the days prior, but leapt right in the morning after indulging in chocolate-chip cookies and red wine the night before, because I am a winner)...I was just hungry. So very, very hungry. And NOT in the mood for juice number five, some bright green thing full of kale and romaine and celery and stuff. 

Specifically, the lowest, worst moment was when Jason came home from work and the reality hit me: I was going to have to sit there sipping juice while my asshole family got to eat real, actual food right in front of me. 

Jason stuck a pizza in the oven for the boys and — upon seeing my pale, frantic face and hearing my near-weeping over this voluntary thing that I had voluntarily signed up for — opted to only eat a salad for dinner. 

"BUT YOU STILL GET TO CHEWWWWW!" I practically wailed at him, then hid in the living room to escape the amazing, delicious smell of shitty frozen pizza warming up in the oven. 

I thought about quitting, yes. I tried to talk myself into a revised plan of drinking the juices during the day and then eating a "sensible" small dinner at night. I'd made a huge mistake, clearly. I should have worked up to this more slowly, getting back into better eating habits post-vacation for awhile and OH MY GOD I WOULD EAT MY SOFA RIGHT NOW BRING ME SOME KETCHUP.

I started in on the green juice and took a shot of the beet juice. Both of them were...surprisingly good, if texture-less. That was still the biggest issue — I liked and appreciated the fresh taste of all the vegetable juices, but missed the satisfaction and satiated feeling that comes with you know, EATING those vegetables.

Then I made the mistake of going into the kitchen to check on my children. Noah had done his patented trick of flipping the pizza upside down, then carefully eating every bite of crust and sauce while leaving the cheese behind. (He loves cheese, just not melted cheese. And yet he insists pizza is his favorite. I don't know. I don't even bother trying to figure it out anymore.) I picked up his plate and walked towards the sink and...

That cheese. That disgusting, leftover slab of sub-par mozzarella that my child had meticulously separated from his pizza slice...

...was suddenly the most irresistible piece of food I have ever encountered in my entire life.

So I ate it. I cheated on my fancy three-day juice cleanse with a hunk of cold cheese from a boxed frozen pizza.

And it was DELICIOUS. Oh, my GOD it tasted so good. Like grease tinged with regret.

And then I finished my salad-juice and finally felt...full. So much that I considered skipping the final drink of the day — a raw vanilla almond milk — but then decided to have it before bed. It was absolutely goddamned delicious and proteinariffic, like some kind of glorious vegan milkshake I never would have liked before but now! NOW! Oh, God bless you, almond milk, for being Not Juice and for having wee tiny flecks of almonds in you that I can FEEL with my TONGUE and gaaahhhhslobberdrool. 

I realized if I'd started the final two juices sooner, I possibly could have avoided the worst of the out-of-my-mind-with-hunger pangs, because I went to bed completely full and satisfied and slept like a rock. Maybe I could actually do this.

Or maybe it was just Stockholm Syndrome brought on by the almond milk. 

Next: Day two brings it on, in a brought-en-est z-snap fashion

Cooking With the Mighty Zah

Happy Valentine's Day, everybody! And good news! Thanks to the money-grubbing powers that be (AKA MY OWN SELF), I accidentally scheduled a sponsored post for today so y'all are spared having to read something goopy about my husband. Instead, we're going to talk about vegetables, thanks to Hidden Valley Ranch.

Vegetables are romantic, right?

(I know where your mind is going right now and I do not like it. I LOVE IT.)

Specifically, I'm supposed to talk about getting kids to eat their vegetables. LIKE I HAVE ANY IDEA. The only kid in my house who is currently not a jerk about consistently eating his vegetables is the baby. Because vegetables are pretty much the only food group he is aware of. 

I make all of Ike's food, and I...well, I make his food because I think it's fun. It's very easy and satisfying and it makes me happy to see my baby's face light up when he tastes something fresh and delicious and baby-birds his mouth for more, more, more. Plus, it's cool to have a baby who eats vegetables beyond the jarred green beans and carrots. There's only a short window before the Great Beige Food Phase, so I like making the most of it, while I can.

The variety in Ike's diet, however, is also owed to a certain older brother's tendency to grab random things in the supermarket and sneak them into our cart. So then it's like playing a game of Chopped at home, as I try to figure out what to do with celery root, kale, a pomegranate and two tomatillos. 

The good news is I can put that same big brother to work in the kitchen. My homemade baby food insanity is contagious, I guess, because Ezra absolutely LOVES helping me cook Baby Ike's Veggietabuls. 

First up, baby veggie stock (to cook stuff like rice, grains, lentils, etc.), adapted slightly from this cookbook. Peel a shallot (or leek, or some spring onions...something mild) and cut into pieces. 

Crack open a sweet potato like an egg. (Then, you know, peel and chop it like a sweet potato.) Use two for a more intense flavor, or if they're small. 

Add about six lightsabers' worth of asparagus.

Four cups of water. Bring to a boil, cover and simmer until the vegetables are soft. Mash and strain them. Refrigerate or freeze the stock; use the leftover veggies in a puree. The broth makes a nice drink option in a sippy cup, and will add extra flavor to bland baby cereals. Ezra also recommends adding pasta noodles or crackers to it for a big-kid lunch. 

Next up, roasted parsnips. Apologies for the blurry photo but OMG PLEASE DON'T PEEL YOUR THUMB OFF IN THE TWO SECONDS IT TAKES TO SNAP A PICTURE OMG.

Preheat oven to 400, arrange in baking dish.

Drizzle with olive oil and add some thyme or rosemary, if you want. Bake for 20 minutes, then puree in a food processor -- thinning with water or baby stock until it's the right consistency for your baby.

Don't forget to save some of the tiny extra-roasted end bits for your super-helpful assistant. They're the best part.

Finally, some old-fashioned basic steamed zucchini. All those springs and summers where I had more zucchini in my garden than I could ever possibly use? I just needed a Baby Ike, because that kid will eat a bushel a week, if I let him. 

But alas, it is winter, so I have no bumper crop out back. 

Luckily I have a REALLY good supermarket-sticker-remover at my disposal. The best place for the peeled-off stickers is your belly button, BTW.

Bring an inch of water to a boil, put (unpeeled) zucchini slices in steamer basket, allow your child to work at the stove because you are not a paranoid helicopter parent and he needs to learn to respect the heat and OMG IF YOU TOUCH THAT BURNER I WILL GROUND YOU FOR A MONTH OMG.

Steam for a few minutes until super-tender, then puree. Don't add any liquid to this one, but DEFINITELY let your preschooler man the food processor controls, because that's like, flying-a-rocket-ship-into-space level AWESOME.

Since we had all three batches going at once -- stock pot, steamer basket, oven -- we made everything here in a little over an hour. (After the zucchini steamed I added the rest of the asparagus to the pot and whipped that up, too.) Not too shabby.

I was going to make a mango puree for Ike as well, but decided Ezra deserved a little snack break. He ate the whole thing. This veggietabul business is no joke. 

Thanks so much to Hidden Valley Ranch for sponsoring this post, and to Ezra (who, despite SOME vegetable jerkiness, would admittedly eat a car tire if it was dipped in ranch dressing) for being so much fun to cook with. You're awesome, little chef-dude.  

This post is sponsored by Hidden Valley® Ranch. Discover how you can make vegetables delectable!

Post-Glurge

Well, hello! Everybody back to the grind after the hallowed day of national gluttony? Nobody got run over or squished too badly on the crazy batshit day of national consumerism-ism? Anybody want some leftover pie? I've got...three, I think, still. 

But not this one. 

Our holiday was fantastic, thank you for maybe thinking of asking, just now, once I said that.

The turkey was our most delicious ever, thanks to Jason's brine (he won't tell me what's in it, the bastard) and my basting (which I will tell you because I am giver AND a showoff; it's butter + thyme + honey + apple cider). He also made challah bread stuffing and homemade cranberry sauce (the secret ingredient to THAT is, no lie, vodka). I made a cauliflower and broccoli gratin with so much cheddar cheese and cream that I successfully destroyed the nutritional benefits of every vegetable from here to the White House garden.

Including the ones Ezra made. 

He then covered them in parchment paper and braised them in a little shitload of butter. He ate them too! Dipped in the vodka-spiked cranberry sauce, at least. He went really, really nuts for the cranberry sauce.

Damnedest thing, right?

In addition to his cooking skills, Ezra also provided a festive centerpiece for the table.

Noah wore a tie for exactly how long it took me to snap this picture. But at least he ate something. 

Then all the vodka tryptophan kicked in right when it was time to do the dishes. 

Oh, and one more, because you've been so good. 

The first look at the beginnings of The Belly. And a possible hoarding problem.

I must say, I am INORDINATELY pleased with the timing of this pregnancy. There is seriously nothing better in the world than officially hitting the second trimester riiiiiiiiiight after Thanksgiving, so one is completely justified in going directly from eating stuffing and gravy for breakfast to the expansive, forgiving comfort of elastic-waist maternity pants. That stupid pregnancy newsletter thing says the baby is still only the size of a "medium shrimp" but whatever. There's placenta and accessories in there too. Plus pie. A lot of pie. 

PS Today's the last day to enter -- or boost your winning chances -- the Windows 7 phone giveaway. And the one at Mamapop as well. Comments will be closed tonight, winner selected and contacted first thing tomorrow while me and my busted-ass iPhone with the shattered screen sit in a corner and sulk. AT LEAST I STILL HAVE PIE.

Turkey Run

DISCLOSURE TALKYSPEAK: Thanks to American Express for sponsoring posts today about small businesses.  American Express is presenting Small Business Saturday, a way to honor the local merchants who are the backbone of the economy, this Saturday, November 27.  They're offering statement credits to people who shop at small businesses, advertising for small-business owners, and donations to Girls Inc. for "Likes" of the Small Business Saturday page on Facebook.  Join the celebration by clicking the "Like" button at the bottom of this entry and then visiting the Facebook page to learn more about the program and read the terms and conditions that apply. 

ACTUAL AMALAH-TYPE TALKYSPEAK: 

I cannot lie. I just spent three hours in the car. Three long, torturous hours. Procuring our Thanksgiving turkey. 

It wasn't supposed to take three hours, of course. Half hour up to the farm, 15 minutes there selecting the bird, another 20 minutes or so wandering around with the boys, visiting with the -- ahem -- pardoned birds still wandering around the pens and the cows and what-have-you, taking adorable photos with them all decked out in Thanksgiving-y outfits I done picked out special...and then a half hour trip back, high on life and the knowledge that HOT DAMN, that is one delicious-looking, never-frozen turkey sitting on the passenger seat there. 

Most turkeys from the grocery store around here -- and all of them at the farmers' markets -- have to arrive frozen. Buying directly from the farm is the best way to get fresh, never-frozen bird, and as we discovered about three or four Thanksgivings ago, the difference will blow the top of your skull off. Figuratively speaking, with only the teensiest dash of hyperbole. So ever since, we've made the trek up to Maple Lawn turkey farm and lugged the thing home in a big-ass cooler. 

This year, it was my turn to make the trip. The day got away from me and I left a smidge closer to rush hour than I would have liked, but hey, I was driving to the COUNTRY. There's no rush hour in the COUNTRY. Come on, kids! Grab the camera and the earth-toned sweaters, and let's make some memories.

It took us an hour to get there. Noah fell asleep. Ezra demanded my entire stash of for-emergency-only granola bars. We hit traffic and red lights and detours and fender benders. It started drizzling at one point and the entire driving population of suburban-to-rural Maryland lost its damn mind. 

And when we got there, it was already too dark to take any pictures of the turkeys or the cows. But it wasn't too dark to see the line. THE LINE. 

The line for turkeys stretched across the barnyard to the...uh...turkey dispensin' barn, I guess, where it wrapped around and looped back and forth about four times inside. Most people came armed with their preorder slips and wheelie coolers -- except for me, who came armed with only a clunky SLR camera and two stir-crazy children. 

But we waited. "Everybody" swore they'd never seen a line or demand like this, even though "everybody" also swore that they'd been buying turkeys from this farm for years. That math didn't really compute, but I didn't really care. I was...happy for the farm. Happy to see the dozens and dozens of people buying their food directly from the growers and caretakers of that food. The other parents explaining to their children that yes, the turkeys in that pen over there were, in fact, the same thing that they now carried wrapped in butcher's paper and a plastic bag. Everybody, despite being gobsmacked by the line and worn out from the drive, readily swearing up and down that it was worth it. Buying from here was worth it. 

"You should have seen my mother-in-law's face," the woman behind me said, as I eavesdropped on her conversation with another stranger in line. "You can't screw these turkeys up, but SHE doesn't know that."

Eventually, it was our turn. One of the farmers asked Noah and Ezra if they were excited for Turkey Day, and they both obliged him with an enthusiastic "GOBBLE GOBBLE GOBBLE!" on cue. I selected our bird -- which cost just about a buck less per pound than the equivalent organic birds at the supermarket -- and wearily corralled the boys back outside, where it was now way, way, WAY too dark to get the pictures I'd hoped for. 

Instead, we marched back to the car and prepared to leave. Suddenly, Noah started to shriek and laugh. I looked over out the window...just in time to see two or three dairy cows stick their heads over the fence I'd pulled in next to, close enough for Noah and I to reach out our windows and touch the tips of their noses. They mooed in approval before moving away. 

Yep. Just like every year: Totally worth it. 

In Which I Go Total Mommyblogger Up On Your Ass

Shh. Come here. Slowly. Casually. 

God. Seriously. BE COOL. ACT NATURAL.

I need to tell you something but I'm absolutely terrified I'm going to jinx myself and ruin everything, so I'm going to type it out very s-l-o-w-l-y and s-o-f-t-l-y and hope that maybe the vengeful gods above are too distracted right now to pelt my ass with lightning bolts.

(And yes, it IS also Invent Your Own Hodgepodge-y Religious Deities Day today. Thanks for asking.)

So we appear to have stumbled upon a solution to Noah's picky eating habits. 

And by "picky" I should clarify: This child has eaten NOTHING since his first birthday. In fact, he has continued to ruthlessly edit down his list of acceptable foods ever since, meaning that up until a few weeks ago he would willingly eat ONLY the following:

1. Dry Cheerios

2. Plain toasted waffles

3. Peanut butter & jelly, though he usually opened the sandwich, licked off the peanut butter and left the rest

4. Grilled cheese, except for the "cheese" part

5. Pizza, but only the crust

6. Individually wrapped cereal bars

7. Frosting

And that, my friends, was seriously it. No fruits, no vegetables, no meats. There were, once, a handful of other foods he'd occasionally eat, that have dropped off the list one by one. He rejected macaroni and cheese, for Christ's sake. I became the mother who would have been THRILLED to see my child agree to eat a damn chicken nugget or hamburger or french fry. I hid traces of pureed fruits and vegetables and beans in whatever I could, but seriously, look at at that list. My subterfuge options were quite limited, at best. The kid drank a LOT of homemade smoothies, packed full of dubious combinations like...apple juice, pineapple chunks and frozen broccoli, which he would drink no problem. But put any of those ingredients in front of him, in solid form? Forget about it. 

We read books. We ate as a family. We ignored him. We refused to short-order cook and did the whole "division of responsibility" thing where we placed food in front of him and that was that. Well, except for the histrionics and wailing that accompanied every meal. And the no eating. He skipped meal after meal knowing that he'd eventually make it to breakfast where he could get some Cheerios.

We tried playing hardball. We pushed and insisted and threatened and re-served rejected foods over and over. He threw tantrums and whined and was sent to bed early night after night, and it solved nothing except for further entrenching everybody into a miserable battle of wills. 

We tried peer pressure and bribery and "just one bite" and a good five dozen other tactics that YOU KNOW aren't going to work but the tactics everybody SAYS will work aren't working and it's driving you crazy because OH MY GOD, the buttons this kid manages to push at dinnertime when all you want in the world is for him to EAT SOMETHING. BESIDES CARBS. AND AIR.

Another problem, besides how incredibly limited his diet was, was that Noah was a s-t-a-l-l-e-r, even when he was served an acceptable or favorite food. Meals stretched on for h-o-u-r-s, or until we gave up and dumped his plate. He sat and sang and turned around and flopped upside-down off the edge of his chair and pretended the spoon was the Millennium Falcon and ate at a rate of one bite per 20 minutes. 

This meant he was frequently getting hustled onto the school bus at 12:15 with only a third of his sandwich eaten -- the sandwich he was originally served over an hour before. This meant dinnertime was a constant nag-fest as Jason and I attempted to keep him focused and on task and EAT, NOAH. TAKE A BITE. 

One night, during a torturous meal of spaghetti and meatballs (translation: practically naked-from-sauce noodles, one sad little turkey meatball that I put on his plate like always, knowing it will be pointedly ignored but "they" tell you to "keep trying!", and a metric ton of parmesan cheese that he deigned to eat granule by granule)...I got frustrated with the stalling and told him I was going to set the timer on the oven. He had 30 minutes. If he finished before that, we'd have time to do something fun, like watch a movie or play a game or have some dessert. He could choose, too.

If he didn't finish, or at least come close, I'm sorry, you're going straight to bed. BECAUSE YOU HAVE A TERRIBLE WITCH OF A MOTHER WHO STILL MAKES BATCHES AND BATCHES OF PUREED BABY FOOD EVERY WEEKEND TO HIDE IN YOUR MEALS AND STAVE OFF SCURVY AND RICKETS.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that child ate every bite of spaghetti. And then he ate the meatball.

In between bites, he would ask how many minutes he had left, nod appreciatively, then get back to the task at hand.

The next night, I upped the challenge with some fish sticks. Noah has never eaten fish in his entire life, nor any meat or vegetable or foodstuff "cleverly" covered up with delicious crunchy breading. (Meanwhile, Ezra prefers them with a nice spicy cocktail sauce.) I put a plate in front of him, and set the timer again.

Five of 'em, down the hatch, like it was no big thing. "I like these!" he announced.

Since then, Noah has eaten -- WITHOUT PROTEST OR ASSORTED STURM AND DRANG -- rotisserie chicken, steamed peas, roast pork loin, mashed sweet potatoes, bison chili loaded with extra vegetables, chicken nuggets, a tzatziki and chopped tomato pita sandwich, spinach linguine and the inside actual cheese part of a grilled cheese sandwich. 

Since the fact that he couldn't see the timer seemed to cause a wee bit of anxiety, we upgraded (with his occupational therapist's advice) to a visual Time Timer clock, which allows him to see exactly how long he has left. His beloved Ms. Meredith uses this to help him with transitions and focusing problems during their sessions, so it seems to have positive connotations for him, and holy mother of Timex, he continues to eat anything and everything we put in front of him. 

Is it still, at the core, bribery? Yeah, I guess. He does indeed get to choose "something special" when all is said and eaten and done. Some nights it's a cookie, or a lightsaber duel on the Wii, or a boardgame, or a DVD. Which are exactly the things we LIKE doing with him after dinner ANYWAY...but were all precisely the things we weren't doing all those nights he spent sitting at the table for two hours moaning over a plate of pasta, or the nights he was sent to his room for throwing a massive tantrum over our refusal to serve him peanut butter and jelly 27 meals in a row. 

In other words, I DON'T CARE. I WIN AT EVERYTHING. I bet u r jelus like a 23-month-old at his big brother's bday party, amirite?

(Yeah, these photos were a stretch in relevancy. But I am feeling gleeful and reckless. I'M CRAZY, MAN. DRUNK WITH TIMER POWER.)

(OH SHIT LIGHTNING BOLTS EVERYBODY DUCK.)

 

Thanksgivingthat'sover

Or, The Crazy-Eyed Peacock Octo-Turkey Bandit Finds a Home

So. Thanksgiving happened. Time to put the food where my braggy mouth is. Photos, confessions, and plenty o' dorkwads, ahoy!

 

If there's anything better than homemade piecrust, it's husbandmade homemade piecrust.

I asked Jason to provide a recipe, and he said it's something like this one, only different, and he went on and on about the importance of apple choices and using the perfect variety and his various tweaks to the topping (oatmeal) but you know, he wasn't 100% happy with the topping this year because it was a too crunchy and NEXT YEAR he's going to try such and such and zzzzzzzzz.

All I know is: Make your own. Not sharing. Goway.

Same goes for the stuffing. I mean, we barely have enough for two people here. BARELY.

 

Cauliflower and broccoli, pre-cheesified. This concludes the healthy portion of our meal.

OMG! The sweet potatoes don't have a serving spoon! Don't take a photo yet! People will think we are savages! Good thing I spent no less than five whole minutes combing through our leftover sage for a single perfectly shaped and photogenic leaf to put on top of them! I think I may have just singlehandedly saved Thanksgiving.

And now, I must talk about the turkey. Which, for all of my Big Talk about my thumpingly good track record with Thanksgiving turkeys, turned out HORRIBLY. Like, the worst turkey ever. Two reasons, only one of which was kind of my fault, but NOT REALLY.

1) Despite ordering our turkey directly from a local farm like every year, we figured we'd save ourselves a trip to the actual farm and arranged to pick it up at the farmer's market. Unfortunately, we didn't realize that D.C. law meant that the turkey HAD to arrive at the market frozen, no matter what. And once you've tasted the difference between a frozen bird and a never-frozen fresh one, well...you become a Turkey Snob, is what happens.

2) AND despite making approximately five separate grocery store runs throughout the week, we* forgot to pick up another turkey essential: the little plastic pop-up timer doohickey thing. Our turkey didn't come with one and of course, our back-up fancy digital probe thermometer chose Thursday OF ALL DAYS to malfunction and we completely overcooked the stupid thing, torn between the 10-minutes-per-pound-math and the alarmingly low temperature reading. We opted to maybe not risk salmonella. Result: dry, shoe-leather turkey that I actively despised and spent most of the meal complaining about.

Oh wait, and also, 3) maybe: We** also forgot to buy more aluminum foil, leading to a panicked discovery mid-cooking when it was time to tent the bird and oh shit! We have no foil! Quick, raid the leftovers in the fridge and cobble together not-quite-enough from some pizza slices and Indian food delivery. While that probably wasn't the WORST thing to happen to the turkey, it certainly didn't help.

But, still. The side dishes were amazing, the wine was...present and plentiful and Jason managed to make a fairly outstanding turkey salad out of the ruined bird AND we still were able to make enough turkey stock to see us through the next year. Liquid gold, as it is known around these parts, guaranteed to camouflage mediocre recipes and cooking skillz for MONTHS.

Plus I also finally found a use for all those extra breastmilk storage bags I had lying around.

Now, who wants to come over for dinner?

EVERYBODY SMILE AND REFRAIN FROM DIVING HEADFIRST INTO THE NEAREST CASSEROLE DISH UNTIL AFTER THE FLASH GOES OFF.

*Jason did the shopping.

**Although as the person responsible for making up the shopping list, I am fully aware of who is the true guilty party. Clearly, it's the Shopping List iPhone app. Way to almost ruin Thanksgiving, TECHNOLOGY.