Dinner - A One Star Affair

Ah, I believe my children's fate is settled. No amount of outside influence, music or sports, studies or literature appear to sway them from their decided destiny. Such a constancy and commitment do they display in their daily pursuit of perfection that their frequent dissertations regarding my culinary efforts will undoubtedly provide seasoned future food critics for the rest of the world. Acerbic tongues wag incessantly, if not always eloquently, as each day I am subjected to their fastidious palates with only rare instances of unified approval and applause.

I hasten to defend myself. After all, I am no stranger to the kitchen and enjoy cooking (or used to), offering a diverse mix of Louisiana staples, ethnic specialties and fresh, healthy preparations. I happily frequent the farmer's market and have learned to discern the freshest ingredients in an aim to provide seasonally appropriate dishes crafted from scratch for my undeserving brood.

Lately, the long winter and economy have led me toward hearty comfort foods that would seem to hold great appeal to hungry children. But, alas, the burgeoning critics refuse to be quieted by such shameless bribes. Contrarily, even these offerings succumb to the superior tastes that inhabit my home.

Pasta, for instance, while generally supported as desirable, must also adhere to very particular preparations for consumption. Critic A enjoys pasta with a traditional red sauce and Critic B will reluctantly concede to the potential tastiness of such a dish but only if served once (leftovers tend to be universally scorned in my house) and with an accompaniment of Caesar salad and garlic bread. Baked macaroni appears appetizing to all except the youngest critic who uses no words but prefers the dramatic display of spitting the uneaten pasta back onto his plate. The addition of fresh vegetables tossed with the noodles apparently degrades the delectability of the pasta no matter how satiated with cheese or olive oil.

Critic B despises all but the most expensive of cheeses (save for the ones with visible mold). Critic A will obligingly consent to domestic slices on sandwiches but loudly shares her preference for brie and Camembert (and would easily consume an entire wedge in a single sitting if required). She steadfastly holds to the belief that cheddar causes dreadful headaches as does mashed potatoes and Gatorade.

Pad thai will receive positive reviews if half of the ingredients are left out. And the appearance of broccoli in the sweet and sour pork sours dinner for everyone. Gumbo produces cheers that are quickly supplanted with longing for my dad's richer, tastier gumbo and by day three this once acceptable dish prompts groans and complaints when served.

Although they have probably never seen a whole chicken (I tend to buy skinless, boneless pieces that require little trimming and no carving) the critics claim an expertise in poultry. The only acceptable way to prepare chicken is the one that requires the most attention. Actual boos arise when I bring forth a platter of chicken unless it has been through the process of having been lightly browned on the stove to which chopped onions are then added and sauteed in the pan. This is followed by a de-glazing with sherry and a sauce is created with some stock to be poured onto the chicken so that it can finish cooking in the oven under low heat and constant basting for another couple of hours. The grill, a favorite of mine for quick, tasty meats and fish, receives no praise and is often chided as taking the easy way out.

I dread the inevitable question each day when I am marooned in the car with these disparaging connoisseurs of good cuisine. "What's for dinner?" is never left unsaid or forgotten. I take a deep breath and using only the most favorable adjectives tally the dishes that will sit before them on the dinner table later that evening. Yesterday, I slowly listed the items and braced myself for their response. Critic A focused on the sauteed chick peas.

"With spinach?" she asked evenly without a hint of her desire.

"Yes," I answered happily. This is the child who ate spinach pie for lunch at least two times a week in her pre-school days.

"I hate spinach," she surprisingly declared. "I'll eat it in a salad if I don't know about it but never cooked. I can think of better ways to use chick peas."

A sharp pain in my chest caused me to swerve the van a little.

"Anything else?" Critic B asked, hopeful with an underscored dread in her voice. "Dessert?"

"No," I answered defeated.

Later, I surveyed their plates and noticed that both critics had separated the chopped garlic and the individual spinach leaves from the chick peas and with most of the chick peas left untouched, they formed little piles of rejection on their plates as if their words hadn't been painful enough. I looked over at the youngest critic. Fresh fruit and bread products make up most of his diet but I continue to offer a variety of foods. He openly dropped his dinner to the dog sitting alertly at his feet. With a defiant air he asked for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I watched the dog relish Rem's dinner and lick the floor before getting up to make the sandwich. At least Tam indiscriminately enjoys my cooking!