The Enthusiastic Consumption of Vegetables

daphne on December 10, 2010

You will never guess what’s been going on around here.

No one could have seen it coming.  I scarcely believe it myself.

But it’s true.

At about 6:00 every evening it happens . . . the enthusiastic consumption of vegetables.

I kid you not.  Broccoli is being tossed back willy-nilly.  Peppers and cucumbers and chard and spinach, all of them, down the hatch without a whine or whimper.

Which brings me to my complaint of the day: setting a good example.  Like many parenting techniques, it looks good on paper.  I’m guessing that’s because the vegetable-eating requirement fades to near invisible in the fine print.

I was hoodwinked.

My daughter and I were engaged in our monthly debate:  She wants to be a vegetarian, and I think that peanut butter and pasta do not constitute a healthy diet for a growing kid. I was a non-eater of worthy food myself as a child; I recognized her ploy – claim vegetarianism and remove an entire category of food from discussion.

So I called her on it.

I pledged full support of her dietary choices if, and I thought this was a deal-breaking kind of if, she enthusiastically consumed a wide variety of vegetables.  Consistently.  Happily.  Without any arm-twisting.

And if (again I was confident that this was an enormous if) she was on board with the happy veggie plan, then I would bring the whole family along for the ride.  After all, it’s a healthier choice for our bodies.  It’s a responsible choice for the environment.   And it would mean preparing just one meal each night and not a myriad of separate dishes.

That was my gauntlet — if she chose to be an Enthusiastic Consumer of Vegetables (how proud I was of this gem of a phrase) then I would prepare vegetarian dinners four or five nights a week.

She saw my bet. And she upped the anti.

She flipped through cook books and bookmarked recipes.

And my picky eater ate risotto with peppers and spinach.

She of the finicky-palate ate potato and garlic soup.

And she has continued to eat platefuls of stir-fried vegetables every night.  Which means, alas, that the grown-ups at the table dutifully have to do the same.

But I don’t have to do it enthusiastically.  That rule only applies to vegetarians.

******************

PS — The garden is on her side.  Check out this hearty haul kicked up in early December. (yes, thanks for asking, we are growing wine.)

One last haul of garden bounty before the snows

Pretty please with chard on top

daphne on February 23, 2009

Rainbow chard is the prima donna of the produce aisle. Just take a look at this princess of a vegetable–

You should see its colors pop against the other dull greens stacked in the produce aisle.  Here, in the middle of February, when everything else seems shades of tan, the chard looks exotic.  It’s no wonder the children clamor for nibble. But children have to learn that throwing a temper tantrum and begging is simply not appropriate grocery store behavior.  No matter how much they want that veggie.

Of course I jest.  If my kids express even the most remote interest in a food that falls into a green category, I’m all for it.  So when I left it up to them to choose a veggie for the night, they were drawn to the amazing technicolor dream-chard.  No contest. How could boring broccoli even hope to hold a candle to such a dazzling veggie?

I thought it at best a begrudging choice, but then something incredible happened.  We were tucking into our Friday night movie and popcorn when Acadia spoke. Five years and counting and I still never know what may come out of that child’s mouth.

I don’t want any popcorn.  Can I have some chard instead? The purple leaf, please?

I kid you not.  The child asked for a leafy snack.  And said please.

Acadia’s movie treat aside, chard is a tough chew.  It looks a little like spinach, but the leaves are thicker, waxier and denser.  Still, there are ways to get the whole family to eat it, and receive a heaping dose of the good stuff in the process.  But chard is more than just a pretty face; it’s jam packed with good stuff.

Swiss chard is good for your lungs, bones and heart.  It’s a notorious cancer fighter.  It’s loaded with fiber, and vitamin K, vitamin A, vitamin C, magnesium, manganese, potassium, iron, and vitamin E.   And copper, calcium, vitamin B2, vitamin B6, protein, phosphorus, vitamin B1, zinc, folate, biotin, niacin and pantothenic acid.

Not familiar with that last one? Lucky you have me, and lucky me, I have wikipedia.  Pantothenic acid is another name for vitamin B5, a water-soluble vitamin required to sustain life. Sustaining life is good.

And I thought the biggest triumph of the Swiss was Toblerone chocolate.  Mmm, Toblerone.  So so good.  But I digress…

On a return trip to the store this weekend I giddily pointed out the chard,  and graciously offered to buy more for my young connoisseur.

Uh, no thanks mom.  I don’t need any.

Oh, well.  It was a good thing while it lasted.


In defense of (not eating) food

daphne on December 10, 2008

This is Kira’s plea against eating turkey.  She can offer up a defense for not eating just about anything.  She says she wants to be a vegetarian.  What she means is that she wants to be a pasta-candy-dessert-atarian.  Not that I blame her.  I too am partial to a diet that leans heavily on the most vital layer in the food pyramid: the chocolate one. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but just because I’ve got the computer set up in the kitchen doesn’t mean that I’m to blame for the pan of brownies that mysteriously disappeared this week.

Some of you may recognize the blatant plagiarism creative adapting I’ve done in the title of this piece as coming from Michael Pollan’s book, In Defense of Food.  Like the Kingsolver book I mentioned last week, it’s a must-read.  Food needs defending, Pollan claims, because much of what we eat today is actually not food, but “edible, foodlike substances.”  Real food he defines as something that “our great grandmothers would recognize as food.”  I concur 100%, and not just because both of my grandmothers were big fans of baked goods.  Most food labels these days read like War and Peace, and with a couple of kids in tow that’s just too much literature to consume in the bread aisle.

Yes, another book.  What–you didn’t know this blog came with a required reading list? Oh relax, there’s not going to be a test.  For all I know you’re not even looking for a fearless food defender.  Maybe this guy is already working for you–

It’s a bird. It’s a plane. It’s….Carrot-Man! He’s the strong, silent, food defending-type. Be warned though; his shtick relies heavily on pushing the veggies.  (Note to self: Consider getting out more.  Or at least getting the camera out of the kitchen.)

Michael Pollan said that after researching and writing his book his point could be boiled down into a few short sentences: Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.

It’s a worthy philosophy. I’d add only this: Brownies too.

Strike Two, Cauliflower’s Outta Here

daphne on October 27, 2008

Ok, Ok, I’ll give cauliflower another chance. Geez, I had no idea the cauliflower lobby had so many activists. You guys really love the stuff.  Apparently you’ll go to the ends of the garden to make some converts (or at least leave me a comment…thanks!)

Our final CSA delivery featured this royalty of the cauliflower family, lovely in shades of lavender.

So fancy did it seem that I decided I would try one of the many delicious-sounding recipes that flooded my inbox (does sarcasm come through online?)  No, really, I’m a grown-up and the mature thing to do is to take my medicine eat my vegetables like an adult.

This royal purple variety did present an opportunity to test the uncanny ability of the girls to identify the category of a food item simply by hearing its name:  Present them with tiramisu, and they’re in, foreign language or no;  though fois gras will send them screaming.  Bon bons? Oh yes, yes.  You get my drift?

Which brings me back to the cauliflower:  I boiled, blended and whipped that lavender bouquet into mashed cauliflower, all the while using my happy fairy thoughts to devise the perfect name. The color was extraordinary, like something out of Neverland.  Perhaps a plop of purple passion?  The girls would be on board, for sure.  It’s all in the name…

I sat in the kitchen, mashing and pondering, when Acadia come in.

What’s that Mom? Cauliflower?

Damn!  That child is quick.  I hastily revised my plan, figuring I’d sell them on taste, an angle best known historically for its total lack of success.

I scooped up a spoonful, brought it to my smiling mouth, and prepared to be blown away.  And blown away I was as I hit a major, deal-breaking snag: it was yucky. Really, really yucky.  I know, I know and I am sorry. Truly I am. But what was I supposed to do? It was just that yucky.

The girls didn’t know what to do with themselves at dinner. Not only did mom not make them taste the cauliflower but she’s wasn’t pushing the broccoli either.  They were on to me.  Something was rotten in the state of the kitchen.

(And considering the smell, I’m blaming the cauliflower.)