Popeye, The Rock Tour, and Pesto

How to Get Your Kid to Eat Greens, Plans A-C

Plan A: The Popeye Argument. Although I love Popeye, I had to put this argument on the shelf after my usually mild-mannered son charged, fists swinging, shouting "I biffs 'em and boffs 'em" (from his favorite Popeye song) at an unsuspecting little girl strolling through the College Mall with her parents.


Plan B: The Rock Tour Strategy. This one worked for me. When Jonah was a tiny toddler, he spent a big chunk of time on tour, eating out in every kind of restaurant, and as a result he always ate his greens: sushi coated in fish eggs with a big side of spinach goma-ae; mounds of Ethiopian collard greens; spicy black bean and spinach burritos; salty collards from interstate standby, The Cracker Barrel. And he was two years old. The thing about this strategy is that although you don't have to actually go on a rock tour, or join the circus or whatever, you DO have to start when your kid is very young.

Plan C: The Pesto Approach. Teach your kid how to make pesto; let them experiment and find their favorite combinations. If he or she hates basil, it need not be involved (I don't think it's helpful to be purist about this - pesto just means anything that's been pounded into a paste). Using this flexible recipe, Henry has produced some excellent blends, including a spinach-heavy one that I hereby dub "Popeye Pesto."

Pesto

2 well-packed cups basil, parsley, spinach, arugula, cilantro, or a combination, leaves only

1/3 cup olive oil

1/2 cup pine nuts, walnuts, brazil nuts (really good), sunflower seeds, or other seeds or nuts

3-4 cloves of garlic, roughly chopped.

1/2-1 cup grated parmesan or romano cheese (or skip the cheese, it'll still be delicious; just add a few extra nuts or seeds and a little more salt)

1/2 teaspoon salt

1-4 tablespoons of water, depending on desired consistency

optional: pinch black pepper, dried herbs, cayenne

Combine all ingredients in food processor. Pulse until blended.

Serve with pasta, potatoes, rice, fish, soup (especially minestrone), crudités or bread. Super good on sandwiches (just add less water).

Plans D and up forthcoming.

Marinara Sauce

As a young adult, I was weirdly afraid to attempt homemade spaghetti sauce, assumed it was a mysterious day-long process, unattainable to a novice cook. When I did finally try to make a basic tomato sauce I couldn't believe how simple and tasty it was, so much better than the jarred stuff, and it didn't take all day. A perfectly good marinara sauce can be prepared in the time it takes to boil water and cook pasta.

I taught this recipe to Henry, who at 13 is certainly not afraid of spaghetti sauce; after one lesson he insisted he had it down.

Marinara Sauce

1 28-ounce can chopped tomatoes

4 medium garlic cloves, minced

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 teaspoon oregano

1 teaspoon thyme

1/2 teaspoon salt

Heat oil in sauce pan, add garlic and sauté one minute.

Add tomatoes, salt, oregano and thyme.

Bring to a simmer and cook on medium heat, stirring occasionally, 15-20 minutes.

A couple of weeks after our first lesson, I was short on time but wanted to make lasagne. I asked Henry if he could make the sauce while I cooked the pasta and prepped the cheese. He did! In a flash, lasagne team lovesmith had this ready to go in the oven:

I'm thinking that having a live-in saucier-in-training is going to be a major boon.

The Half-Empty Nest

I guess I could say the nest is half empty. A few weeks ago, my oldest son Jonah started college, and it has been discombobulating.

It's kind of terrible. I ran into my neighbor Bob, whose daughter is now in grad school, and we commiserated on the sidewalk. "Nobody," said Bob, "tells you how hard it is. One minute they're sitting at the table eating a bowl of cereal, the next you're driving home from some college with a broken heart." True.

But it's also kind of wonderful. Jonah is ready, he's happy, he's doing the things he should be doing and he's in a good place.

And I'm getting more sleep - no more 1 a.m. awakenings, no more late night clunking sandwich making. It reminds me of that momentous leap of long ago, from having a night-waking toddler to having a kid who sleeps through the night.

I am sleeping through the night. I hope Jonah is. I have no idea, though, and no way of knowing. Maybe he's not sleeping at all. I don't know. He could be doing anything. What was I doing when I was 18?

Did I mention how terrible this is?

I miss many things about my oldest son, but these days I especially miss our irregular Sunday evening cooking lessons. During all of Jonah's senior year, I cobbled together a cooking course of sorts, an attempt to prepare him for adult life and an excuse to spend some time with him while he was still home. It was also, I must admit, a sideways ploy to get someone other than me to make dinner once in a while.

Jonah's cooking lessons were imperfect, but I knew that from his perspective the project was a success when he claimed, shortly before his departure for college: "I now know how to cook. You don't have to worry about that." For me, it was an unquestionably valuable experiment. I only wished I'd started doing it earlier, much earlier, like when he was 13.

Which brings me to Henry. Henry, 13, is my youngest son. For the past year he has been saying things like, "When can I start MY cooking lessons?" Henry has always been impatient, always trying to catch up with his older brother. He stubbornly started to walk when he was 8 months old, before his little round baby body was even ready. I'm convinced, especially in retrospect, that this was an act of will, a major clue about the personality of a very, very determined person.

Well Henry, good news: It's your turn. Time to rattle those pots and pans.

I guess I could say the nest is half full.