Feeding a family is not an easy task. There’s cost to consider, nutrition is key and (heaven help us all) there are food preferences to keep in mind.
My beloved spouse, Pat, despite all of his other good traits, is a picky eater. He’s not one much for pasta and would just as soon not be served anything with chives, and vegetables are acceptable only when a tub of dip is provided.
Casseroles are his worst nightmare because (and I’m darn near quoting) he likes his potatoes here, his meat there, and if he’s going to eat that green stuff, he wants to be able to identify it from across the room so he’s able to turn his nose up at it without it splashing back on him.
Although I’m sure he’d deny it if you ask, I don’t think his mother made him finish his liver and onions.
To my knowledge Pat has never, not even once, touched a pea of any sort, would turn up his nose if you tried to feed him broccoli without cheese, and does his all-out best to steer clear of legumes.
That said, I hide a lot of ingredients in his meatloaf, and he eats more cream of mushroom soup than he’ll ever know.
Although our older two sons will eat almost anything that doesn’t consume them first, our younger two follow in their father’s footsteps. They despise my roast, think my baked chicken is gross, and to this day have never come close to being hungry enough to consume my goulash.
You should know that I make a dang fine goulash.
Worse yet, my family tries to tell me their preferences when they know I’m going to the store. “Don’t buy any more of that puffy cereal,” they call out the door before they shudder for effect and follow up with “I hate puffy cereal.”
“Hey,” someone else calls out as if I’m taking notes, “can you make sure that you get the SpaghettiOs with the meatballs this time?” Then, as if I’m paying attention, they specify, “Don’t buy any more of that disgusting bread.”
They also have a certain flavor of sports drinks that they think are the bombdiggity, but for the love of me I can’t remember what that flavor is.
They’d just as soon I steer clear of asparagus and I’ve been instructed that they prefer plain Club crackers over Ritz. Good to know.
Since my memory isn’t what it used to be, I oftentimes find myself in a grocery store pondering fruit juices, and for the love of all that is flavorful, I can’t remember the favorites.
Was it pomegranate that they crave? Did someone loathe cranberry? What if I went off the deep end and simply purchased a juice medley?
The populace might shudder to think.
Just last week, thinking I had my finger on the pulse of the people, I loaded up a cart with well-thought-out selections and took the groceries home to the abode.
“What is this?” one child inquired as he held up a bag of low-carb tortillas. “Oh no she didn’t!” exclaimed another as he mulled over the tater tots, and when they took out a bag of fresh green beans, they offered up, “Argh! Dad is gonna flip when he sees this!”
Turns out I’d also purchased small whole wheat buns (a healthy alternative to the white miniloaves they prefer), the wrong kind of cereal, and word in the kitchen had it that I’d purchased yellow lemonade when they’d made it clear they prefer the pink.
“Mom bought the finely shredded cheese,” they tattled to their father upon his return home.
“Why can’t she remember that we like the thick stuff?” he retorted with a tone that clearly implied he didn’t know I was in the room.
“Perhaps you people should do your own grocery shopping,” I responded as I stomped into their midst.
“Oh no, Lori,” my beloved spouse stated as he tried to make up for the familial criticism. “I, for one, think you’re doing a bangup job. By the way, your hair is really pretty today.”
I think I’ll reward his kind words by putting some finely shredded cheese on the green beans and serving it up for supper along with a nice goulash.
That is what I call food for thought.
Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” You can reach her at www.loriclinch.com.