Catch Up

One of the reasons – admit it! – people have kids is to see their own qualities reflected back at them. Muffin has a lot of me in her, what with her ski jump nose, her allergic-to-the sun skin tone and her undeniable dance ability. But thankfully there’s one big way that she does not resemble her mama one bit: she is a magnificently adventurous eater.

I spent most of my childhood trying to figure out a tactful way to deduce what was being served before accepting dinner invitations at friends’ houses. Even with screening, I’d often end up in awkward dinner situations, since, well, I didn’t really like anything unless it was completely sauce-, spice-, and flavor-free. Slowly over time (and in leaps and bounds since I met the Canuck, who is the most contagiously enthusiastic eater you will ever meet), I got over my food phobias and now consider myself only mildly picky. Although I'm probably still a culinary liability to the Canuck, I can accept any dinner invitation without hesitation.

I did not want to pass the finicky eater gene passed down to Muffin, and fortunately she is her father's daughter when it comes to food. Vegetables I've only learned to like as an adult -- broccoli, cauliflower, squash -- she eats with relish. I bought her a microwave kid dinner to try, and she ate all the peas and none of the mac 'n' cheese. One time the Canuck made a chili that was just too spicy for me to stomach, but she ate it no problem. Although "yellow cheese" is her most frequent request, I've seen her eat Humboldt Fog goat cheese, pecorino, dill havarti, brie and a very sharp Quebec cheddar. I learned early on that I could get her to eat any meat as long as I slathered it in BBQ sauce.

And while I remain staunchly anti-condiment, she is quite taken with ketchup. Eating out at a new, still-getting-the-service-down restaurant recently, I had to ask for ketchup five times, as Muffin grew despondent. When finally this tomato-based nectar of the gods arrived, she tucked into a basket of sweet potato fries happily, dipping all the way. When they cleared our table and took the ketchup away, she bid it farewell with a somber wave. I guess the loss hit her hard, because she kept repeating "bye, bye ketchup" all the way home.