Day 2: Fishermans pie with baby carrots

So I am trying to get them to warm to the idea of eating fish: It ain't easy.  After a disasterous breaded fish incident last week, I decided to make it less obvious by making a 'fishermans pie' this evening.  It's a simple affair, in theory, but actually I used three pans which left me somewhat dismayed since I despise washing up and don't have a dishwasher.

I used:

• potatoes- sliced for a gratin and par-boiled
• tin of pink salmon (OK,OK, I could have used fresh salmon but have you seen the price of it?)
• a bag of frozen white fish
• small tin of sweetcorn
• fried spanish onion
• garlic
• cheese sauce: cheddar, flour, milk, mustard, butter
• salt and pepper (and some chili powder..nobody noticed) to taste
• a bag of baby carrots for the side

What I did with them

Blended the fish, onions, garlic and sauce and topped it all off with the gratin potatoes

Ten minutes in the oven --well, forty minutes on a really low heat as I had to collect my son from a birthday party, and then decided to have a quick look around Centrepoint with him since DH came home early from work and was supposedly looking after the rest of them-- (he wasn't, he was asleep on my bed the whole time I was gone according to my daughter who took charge of the baby)

Did they eat it? 

In short, yes although my daughter seems to be rebelling against the new regime more than the younger ones, who are lapping up the new 'grown up food' adventure.  She whined yesterday 'why can't we eat what we used to eat?' as she is obviously feeling quite threatened by this new regime.  'Because it's time to think about what goes into our body' I told her, meaning 'because otherwise you are all going to end up dough-people who can't tell a broccoli spear from an asparagus and who never get asked out for a second date'.

We've all had that experience of eating out with a new beau only to be appalled at what they order and left wanting to retch at the sight of his/her masticated meal-- like a washing machine with a window doing a spin-- and ultimately realising that  frankly there was no future in the relationship.  I shudder at the thought of someone sitting opposite my child some day thinking 'He's just ordered a plate of plain pasta! I'm outa here after this!'.

I once went out with a guy I thought was smart, funny and interesting:  All was going well until he took me out for dinner and thought that, during dessert, it would be funny to flick his dessert into my face with his spoon.

I did not find this funny.

-'But all my girlfriends think that's hysterical' he protested.

-'Not me you idiot!' I hissed as I made my way to the exit....

My point is, along with a wider variety of food comes a more sophisticated approach to eating.  My own history of food has left me a little cynical about the art and act of eating and it has passed down to my kids: It's descended into a necessary evil rather than an act to be enjoyed and savoured.

Boy number two is without doubt the most experimental and actually feels its a badge of honour to be the first one to try a new flavour which has a favourable domino affect since as soon as one of them tries something new and professes it to be 'good', the next one gives it a go and so on....

More tomorrow...

Day 1: The experiment explained

I've recently realised that if my children were what they ate, they would be the human manifestation of Happy meals.  This isn't something I am proud of, but over time I've sort of given up trying to get them to eat properly; And eating out has become impossible.

In Ireland we used to order what was called a 'baby bowl' or 'baby dinner' for them (and not just for babies...my five year old would eat it too) which was basically a  bowl of mashed potatoes and vegetables with soup or gravy poured over the top, the kids loved it.  In the UAE this sort of thing isn't on offer so we've sort of fallen into a routine of ordering random and chips everywhere we go.  

The result has been children that cower at the sight of a vegetable and refuse anything that hasn't been processed within an inch of its life.

At home it's not much better:  We've fallen into a routine which sees at least one meal in Burger King each week, hot dogs once a week (with the reasoning that sausage = protein, roll = carbs-- pathetic, I know) with the occasional pasta with pesto sauce '(what's that green leaf in it??' they will whine, 'It's the bloomin' pesto!') or a frozen pizza or sometimes a home made pizza on arabic bread.  Nowhere in any of this does a vegetable even raise its head.

And four year old boy has taken to drinking a babies bottle of milk rather than eating at all, a situation which I've allowed to continue rather than wasting my time dishing up food he refuses to eat anyway.

And so, following a disasterous meal out with all of them recently, where they squabbled, fussed, picked at their food and shot up and down out of their seats every three seconds, circling the table and generally being bad-mannered, I despaired to DH 'they are bloody animals, nobody will ever love them if they eat like this!'

When I was a child mealtimes were a sombre affair: I was expected to eat everything on my plate and my mother certainly didn't pander to my childish palate; I ate the same as the grown ups and not only that, but using grown up cutlery, crockery and plates.

By contrast, my children, including nine year old girl, use plastic bowls and miniature forks.  I'm letting them down and into the bargain making meal times miserable for myself.  So ungratifying are mealtimes at this stage that I dread them and will opt to take them to our local Burger King at the drop of a hat rather than serve up miserable and unappetising food, half of which will end up on the floor.

And so, in order to diminish the chances of them ending up with partners who keep margerine and ketchup in the middle of their dining tables and who think licking their knives is acceptable, I decided to embark on an experiment/project to educate them how to eat properly and with some element of decorum.