My daughters are 20 months apart in age. When they were babies, people would take one look at the hollowed-out shells that once housed our functioning selves and say It’s tough now, but you’ll be so grateful later when they play together. I thought these people were lying just to make me feel better. We were so in the thicket of “now” that we couldn’t imagine a “later.” I could not fathom these helpless little things entertaining each other, or a time when we would trade in defensive parenting — hovering, watching, reacting — for active parenting. Nor could I imagine a time when they’d actually sit down to a real meal with us. The sitting part stymied me, as did the “real meal” part. Their plates held not so much dinner as a poor man’s tapas selection: cubes of raw red peppers, microscopic pieces of chicken or shrimp, a little bowl of noodles. But I turned a corner the day I decided to marry two of those foods to make one: Angel Hair with Shrimp. It’s so simple it seems almost stupid, but it worked as a perfect inaugural family dinner because the shrimp and pasta mix together without fully integrating. So if it flops, you can always send the ingredients back to their separate corners. And if it works, the kids get a real meal, and you get a glimpse of your future.

Angel Hair with Shrimp

In a medium pot, cook angel hair as directed on package. Drain and toss with olive oil in the colander to prevent noodles from sticking. Return the pot to the stovetop and turn heat to medium. Add more olive oil, one chopped shallot (or 1/2 onion), one clove of garlic (minced), a few red pepper flakes (optional), salt and pepper, and cook about one minute, nestling garlic amidst the onions to prevent it from burning. Push to the side, turn up heat slightly, and add 3/4 pound of cleaned shrimp. Cook about 1 1/2 minutes on one side, then when you flip them over, pull in the onions and toss until everything is cooked through. Squeeze a little lemon on the shrimp, then add the angel hair, tossing to combine. Add a handful of chopped parsley, unless you think it will render prospects of consumption null and void.

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I knew what I wanted for dinner yesterday before I had even taken a sip of my morning coffee. It was going to be that beautiful fusilli with chard and crunchy breadcrumbs that accompanied Melissa Clark’s story in the Times about whole wheat pasta. I didn’t have any fusilli — but I had some whole wheat rigatoni, and chard, and onions and…hey look at that!…I had some thyme and goat cheese and mushrooms, too! With the addition of each new ingredient to the pot, though, I was not only getting further away from Melissa’s recipe, I was getting further away a meal I could expect my children to eat no-questions-asked*. So just before I dolloped a hunk of very un-extractable goat cheese into the hot pasta, a point-of-no-return move if there ever was one, I made a decision: The kids are eating something else tonight. Tonight, I just need to cook my dinner the way I want to cook my dinner, and I want to eat my dinner the way I want to eat my dinner. The family has sat down to roughly the same meal for, what, about four straight nights now? Plus, I volunteered at school today and sent out Abby’s birthday invitations! Surely these noble deeds qualified me for some kind of kickback? So Andy and I had our special earthy, herby pasta and the kids had their Trader Joe’s chicken taquitos from the freezer. And the sun still rose from the east in the morning.

*in my house, mushrooms + goat cheese is asking a lot

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The Mikey Pollan
Ideal meal: Heritage chicken stir-fry with kohlrabi, heirloom bell peppers, and buckwheat soba noodles.
Overheard at family table: “Mom, this kale is a little more delicate than I’m used to – are you sure it isn’t Tuscan kale?”
Overheard at playdate with less food-aware friend: “No, thanks. My mom says real Parmesan doesn’t come in green cans.”
Life’s ambition: The purposeful beard.
In 10 years, will be: A junior at Oberlin.

The Refusenik
Ideal meal: Whatever you’re not serving.
Modus Operandi: Unswerving, knee-jerk dismissal of everything set before him. Feigned inability to reason.
Calling card: The untouched plate.
Defining characteristics: Second child. Dearth of pity.
Admission, made in a rare moment of weakness: Seriously, other than this whole “food thing,” I’m a total puppy dog.
Means of survival: Snacks. The refusenik is relentlessly hungry, except when it’s time to actually, you know, eat.

The Negotiator
Ideal Meal: Double Stuffed Oreos, the promise of which is the only reason he eats anything else.
Overheard at lunchtime: “What’ll you give me if I eat this?”
Overheard at bedtime: “I thought you said there was no story tonight.”
In ten years, will be: Lead interrogator for the Mossad, or high-value detainee being interrogated by the lead interrogator for the Mossad. (more…)

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At around 6:00 the other night, Abby made her way into the kitchen to ask what she usually asks at 6:00 when I’m in the kitchen.

“Mom, what’s for dinner?”

Even though Andy had started hacking up a butternut squash about six hours earlier, even though I was standing there over a stock pot, wielding an immersion blender, minutes away from pureeing the cooked squash with apple into a lovely soup, I answered what I always answer when I’m not sure she’s going to like the answer.

“I don’t know yet.”

I had introduced the soup to the family last fall and I had the distinct recollection that her sister loved it. But I’m pretty sure Abby was lukewarm on it. And as far as I can tell, there’s no faster way to get her to reject something at the table than to give her an hour to think about exactly how lukewarm she was on it. The do-ask-don’t-tell policy is in place as much for my well-being as it is for hers. I can’t beat myself up for giving her something she doesn’t like if I didn’t know she didn’t like it, right? Not sure who I’m trying to convince here. (more…)

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I love sharing these kinds of recipes with parents. Doesn’t it look like we cooked up two completely different meals: one for the grown-ups (left) and one for the kids (right)? We didn’t at all. The astute eye will notice that everything you see on the right makes up the meal on the left. It just took a little think-work for Andy to strategically reserve a few pre-approved components from the chopping board before they were tossed into the pot with the steamed deal-breakers, I mean Little Necks.

Spaghetti and Clams
This is so easy and so amazingly delicious. It takes 20 minutes. Twenty minutes!!! If you think your kids will like it without any editing, just pretend the green instructions below don’t exist.

Make spaghetti according to package directions, setting aside plain pasta tossed with olive oil or butter on the kids plates if that’s the way it has to be. In a large stock pot or Dutch Oven set over medium heat, saute 1 chopped shallot, 1 minced garlic clove, a few shakes of red pepper flakes and some freshly ground pepper in olive oil. (Not necessary to salt — the clams are naturally briny.) Add about a dozen and a half fresh clams, a 1/2 cup white wine, and a small bunch of whatever fresh herbs (chopped) you have lying around. (Andy used parsley and basil.) When the clams steam open, add a handful of chopped tomatoes (any shape or color, setting some aside on the kids’ plates if you’d like), some corn off the cob (again, setting some aside) and cook another two or three minutes. Discard any clams that haven’t opened, then toss the whole thing with pasta, making sure to scoop lots of the broth into the bowl. Serve with crusty bread for sopping.

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My 3-year-old nephew Nathan is not a big fan of vegetables. Or the idea of eating in general. I spent a few days and many meals with him on vacation last month and watched as his dad — my brother — agonized over each crumb that did and didn’t go down the hatch. Annie’s Mac & Cheese is pretty much his only ace-in-the-hole option — that is, the only food my brother can be sure Nathan will eat when you put it in front of him. “Oh, and cake, too,” he said laughing. But I got the distinct feeling that he found it the opposite of funny.

For the entire vacation I had to force myself not to say what every single family member, friend, and physician said to Andy and me when Abby went on her Great Food Strike of 2004:  She’ll eat when she’s hungry! Why are you making yourself so crazy? Man did that prescription make me crazy. While of course there is something to the idea of not giving the kid so much power in the struggle — i.e. by not pushing, not hovering, not worrying — try putting this in to actual practice when your kid eats one raisin over the course of an entire week (February 9-15, 2004). (more…)

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There were so many things Abby wasn’t psyched to eat when she was three. Most things, actually. Fish, for example. She threw up when we made her eat flounder. Carrots (she couldn’t chew them). Waffles (she only ate pancakes). Eggs (they smelled horrible). Green beans. Pork chops. Yellow cheese. Tomatoes. Macaroni and Cheese (for Chrissakes!). We once went four straight weeks — no joke — when Abby basically rejected all solid food, and there but for the grace of Pediasure… well, I don’t even want to think about what would have happened had it not been for Pediasure. What she did eat during those dark days: pasta with butter and “Abby’s spice” (garlic salt); pizza; apples with peanut butter; and breaded chicken (as long as it was drowned in ketchup). Then one summer weekend a couple years ago, when we went to visit my brother Tony in upstate New York, she discovered the joys of steak, and our lives got a little bit better. Tony had taken a flank steak, marinated it forever in teriyaki sauce, and grilled it. He sliced it thin. Abby was, of course, initially skeptical. We begged her and tried to reason with her and explained how steak was exactly like a hamburger, only sliced instead of chopped — can’t you see that? — and finally bribed her (you want ice cream tonight, right?) to have a bite, one bite… at which point her stubborn little mind was blown. She had seconds, and then thirds, and “Tony’s steak” was born. Ever since that day, Abby has judged all meat dishes by this standard, her gold standard.

“I don’t  really like it,” she’d say when we served her a premium grilled ribeye or a tender filet, cooked to perfection. “I like Tony’s steak better.”

“Is this Tony’s steak?” she’d ask, sniffing out our lame imitation and forcing us to admit that it was not, in fact, Tony’s steak, not exactly. “It’s okay, but it’s not…”

Tony’s steak has proven hard to live up to. Until last weekend, that is. Last weekend, we grilled a steak that even Abby couldn’t argue with: the meat was grass fed and organic and all that, and we somehow achieved a marinade that was just the right amount of salty and sweet for Abby’s discerning palate. We sliced it thin. We served it with fresh, grilled corn and bok choy. We called it, without shame, Tony’s steak. We placed it before Abby. And this time, Abby believed us. – Andy (more…)

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Last year I went to lunch with my friend and writer Lori at Sam’s, a Jewish Deli in the Garment District. At the time I was her editor at Cookie and the goal of the lunch was to come up with story ideas for the next few issues. She is that friend you just want to follow around with a pad of paper and pencil — she’s always reading or writing something interesting and I’m always the one on the other end of the conversation saying things like “…and it’s called ‘Stuff White People Like’ or ‘Things White People Like?’” or “…and you spell Safran Foer…how?”  She is the friend who sends me the stories in obscure journals and websites that she knows I will love (and that everyone will be talking about). When she sat down at this lunch, though, she looked forlorn. After some small talk, her face turned slightly ashen, she leaned forward and whispered to me… (more…)

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So remember the request to see my MDNW bumper stickers in action? Joslyn T, the mastermind behind Raising Foodies sent this sweet photo to me and I liked it so much I sent her a free cookbook. Everyone who registered on DALS by the June 26 deadline should have received their free sticker by now — and for everyone else, don’t worry, there will be lots of opportunity to win one in the next few weeks. Your chances increase greatly when you send in happy family dinner photos…and in fact, they increase exponentially when you send in unhappy family dinner photos. (Remember, I am in the business of reality here.)

And…BREAKING NEWS! I’m pleased to report that after approximately 325 exposures to quinoa, the girls finally took their first bites a few nights ago without wincing. We think it had something to do with Andy’s money-back guarantee: “You can spit it out if you don’t like it.”

Happy weekend everyone. I think I’m going to make some version of this dinner on Sunday when my parents come over if you’d like to “join” us.

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When it comes to family dinner, unanimity of approval is the dream. Over the past few years, we’ve developed a pretty solid rotation of meals – shrimp with feta, pork chops, grilled cheese — that achieve something close to 100% satisfaction around the table, that elicit not a squeak of protest when plate hits table. But that rotation, like the diamond-crusted roster of the New York Yankees, is in constant need of refurbishing and reinvention. Move forward or perish, right? We’re always trying to introduce new things that we can come back to again and again, things that taste a little better that what we ate last night, or are a little more heart healthy, or a little easier to make.

Here’s the problem with introducing something new: most of the time, at least one of the kids won’t touch it.

But that’s okay! We have a theory around our house: If we can achieve 75% happiness with a new meal – that is, if 3 of the 4 people at our table eat the meal without complaining, crying, or vomiting – then that meal is worth making again. And the more we make it, the more likely our li’l holdout will be to try it, and once she tries it, the more likely she will be to come around eventually to, you know, liking it. And in this way, our dinner rotation expands.

Take last Sunday, for example. It was hot and muggy and the back of my neck was getting both dirty and gritty. It felt like a burger night, only we’re trying not to eat as much beef these days and the thought of another dry, workman-like turkey burger, even dressed up with cheese, hurt my soul. So we got some ground chicken – white meat and dark — from the guy with the cooler full of farm-raised stuff at our farmer’s market, and went for something different: tandoori burgers with yogurt sauce, doctored up from an old Martha Stewart recipe. The verdict? 3 out of 4. – Andy

Tandoori Chicken Burgers

1 1/2 pounds ground chicken
4 scallions, chopped
2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh ginger
Juice of one lemon
1 tablespoon paprika
2 teaspoons cumin
1/4 teaspoon cayenne
Salt and lots of pepper
Whole wheat hamburger buns
1 cucumber, thinly sliced

In large mixing bowl, combine chicken, scallions, ginger, lemon juice, paprika, cumin, cayenne, salt, and pepper. Cover and put in refrigerator for 45 minutes (this lets it all marinate, and also makes it easier to handle). Form into patties and grill (or fry in pan) until cooked through, about 6-7 minutes a side. (Make sure to oil the grill beforehand, as the burgers will stick.) Serve on whole wheat buns, topped with lots of crunchy cucumber slices and yogurt sauce.

For yogurt sauce: Whisk together 1 cup nonfat plain yogurt, 1 teaspoon cumin, 1 tablespoon chopped cilantro, 1 tablespoon lemon juice, couple pinches of sugar.

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We were up in the Berkshires last weekend visiting contemporary art mecca Mass MoCA and while we were there stopped in the museum’s “KidSpace” to check out an exhibit called “You Are What You Eat.” We didn’t stay long — the kids weren’t with us, we were away alone for the first time in three years — but we stayed long enough to catch a few works by Luisa Caldwell, a Brooklyn-based artist who turns fruit labels into these cool looking collages (like the one above). If I remember correctly, it was some sort of commentary on food marketing but the three concepts that swirled in my head for the days that followed — Stickers, Fruit, Kids — joined forces to form another idea altogether.  For parents who are having trouble getting their kids to eat fruits and vegetables — how about using those labels for a new kind of star chart? Every time they eat a piece of fruit, they get to add the label to their column. Once they hit a certain number, they get to pick out a book or a toy at the toy store. Or, for my Northeastern bretheren, they get to go to Mass MoCA!

I faked this chart just to show you how I’d do it if my kids weren’t complete angels who need no incentive to down their five USDA-required daily servings of fruits and vegetables. And anyway there are no fruit labels in my house because everything we eat comes fresh from the farmer’s market or picked right from our backyard organic garden. The garden to the left of our Shetland pony stable and behind the servants’ quarters.

PS: If you are headed to the Berkshires this summer, don’t go without first checking the area’s must-read website, Rural Intelligence. I used it to plan my entire weekend. It covers the goings-on in Berkshire, Columbia, Litchfield and Duchess counties.

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1. Because it’s arguably easier and faster than cooking up another pot of Annie’s Mac & Cheese.

2. Because the afternoon birthday party served pizza at 4:00. (What is up with these parties? Will someone please enlighten?)

3. Because the clock is ticking and the kids won’t be awake by the time your dreamy white wine sauce has reduced.

4. Because you live in Dallas, I mean New York, where the hot-and-humid and over-90 degree heat has been oppressive for two weeks straight. Nothing appeals to you – least of all the act of turning on an oven.

5. Because you’re going away for the weekend, there are only scraps in the fridge, and you can’t deal with breaking out pots and pans and baking dishes.

6. Because you’re back from your weekend away, there are only scraps in the fridge, and you can’t deal with breaking out pots and pans and baking dishes.

7. Because you have lettuce that is about to liquefy, beautiful fresh summer zucchini that sits there taunting your lack of culinary imagination, and a loaf of bread that will be mistaken for your son’s baseball bat if you don’t rescue it soon.

8. Because the house was just cleaned and you would like to freeze the kitchen in its rare state of cleanliness for as long as possible.

9. Because it’s an easy-to-assemble, legitimate dinner that can be customized for a wide range of picky palates and a wide range of unpredictable schedules, i.e. if one parent is coming home later than the kid’s dinnertime, the serve-yourself toppings will save the cook from another round of cooking.

10. Because it’s Monday…Why the hell not? (more…)

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When her daughters were little, my friend Frances somehow convinced them that green beans were related to French fries. She called them Green Fries. I was so jealous — my kids had been to too many restaurants with Kidz menus by that point to be suckered by what seemed like unbelievably JV kitchen trickery to me. If my kids (and most kids I imagine) were going to eat a healthy vegetable disguised as a French fry, the recipe would have to be kicked up to varsity levels. These crispy, golden Zucchini fries fit the bill.

One thing: I advise making them on the weekend or on a weeknight where you’re not up against the clock. (Stop laughing.) I don’t mind the laborious dredging-and-dipping process on a weeknight if it’s for the main part of the meal (like chicken fingers, for instance). But I find it kind of a drag for just a side dish. You might feel differently, in which case ignore.

Zucchini Fries

Preheat oven to 400° F. Cut and slice 3 zucchinis into sticks as shown. In a medium bowl, combine 1 cup unseasoned bread crumbs, a dash of cayenne, salt and freshly ground black pepper. Place 1 cup flour in another medium bowl and 2 beaten eggs in a smaller bowl. Dip the zucchini sticks first in the flour until lightly coated, then in the eggs. Roll them in the bread-crumb mixture until well covered. Transfer the zucchini pieces to a baking sheet lined with foil and bake until they look crispy and golden, about 20 minutes. (Sometimes I give them a quick shot of cooking spray at the end if they aren’t browning to my liking) Serve with ketchup.

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Riddle: It’s summer. Fourth of July weekend to be specific. You’re assigned dessert. What do you bring to a party to feed seven grown-ups and seven kids, one of whom has a dairy allergy?

In my mind, only one answer: Cobbler.

But wait: Butter + Dairy Allergy = Not the Nicest Thing to Do

And: Cobbler – Butter = Not Much of  a Cobbler.

Still, not an option. My mother-in-law has been making fruit cobblers on the Fourth for the last ten years and celebrating the holiday without one would be like foregoing the flags and fireworks. A little scouring of this cool Internet thing turned up a bunch of vegan takes on the classic. This blackberry-peach version is a composite of a bunch — almond milk stands in for the regular milk and oil stands in for the butter.

I like doing all the fruit and sugar tossing right in the baking dish instead of in a separate bowl.  It makes for one less big-ticket item to wash. (more…)

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There was a photo in one of the last issues of Gourmet that haunts me to this day. In a good way. (What is the word for haunting in a good way? Word people…help, please.) You know how much I love the concept of Deconstructed Dinner? The idea of leveraging the “no-touching!” decree regularly issued by toddlers into a beautiful salad where everything is separated into individually delicious elements? Well the Gourmet photo showed a rustic platter holding about eight or nine different “stripes” of food — grilled chicken, grilled mushrooms, chick peas, radishes, greens. In other words, the most glorious Deconstructed Dinner ever constructed. I lost the issue and have had no luck finding the recipe on epicurious, but finally, a year later, Andy and I replicated the platter in our kitchen. That’s it up there. A veritable celebration of farmer’s market fabulousness. Shredded romaine, “campfire potatoes”, fresh garden peas, tiny spring onions, asparagus, chicken, and some homemade pesto drizzled on top. (Storebought will do, too.)

The only “stripe” on the platter that wasn’t prepared on the grill was the one made of orange-thyme roasted carrots — which is a big fave with the girls. I think this is probably because the recipe only really works with the small, tender, sweet carrots from the farmer’s market that resemble the kind Bugs Bunny walks around with. (Try saying “What’s up Doc?” while holding a nubby little baby carrot. So incredibly depressing.) To make: Chop off most of the carrot stems, rinse slightly (no need to peel if you rinse well), and slice them horizontally as shown. Toss with olive oil and some fresh thyme leaves and roast in a baking dish in a 425°F oven for about 15-20 minutes until tender. Halve an orange and roast alongside the carrots. (This concentrates its juices.) When the carrots are finished, squeeze about a tablespoon of orange juice all over them. (more…)

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You wouldn’t think that a gooey, melty grilled cheese would be too hard a sell on a kid, right? You also wouldn’t think that a grilled cheese is nutritious enough to warrant Kasparov-ian strategizing from that kid’s parents. But the Phoebe-wants-this-Abby-wants-that routine can wear on me (have I mentioned that each daughter requires her own brand of salsa when served with chips?) especially during something as supposedly simple as a weekend lunch. Why does Abby have to have a peanut butter sandwich and Phoebe have to have a grilled cheese? Why can’t both of them have a grilled cheese? It’s lunch! Why can’t I just make the same thing for both of them? Why? Why? Why?

That’s where the waffle iron came in. As soon as we discovered this neat little trick (from the “Sandwiches for Dinner” chapter in Time for Dinner) where the iron plays the role of panini maker, Abby was finally willing to eat a grilled cheese. Sorry, I mean Abby was finally willing to eat a “Waffle Sandwich.” (more…)

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Just want to clear one thing up: My family does not all sit down to the same dish every single night. We do most nights. But like every house that is inhabited by humans born in the 21st century, there is the constant chorus of requests (an awfully nice way to put it) from the royal diners. I want spaghetti not meatballs, I want meatballs not spaghetti. I want ketchup with my hamburger. I won’t eat my fish without soyaki. I don’t have to go on. I know you know.

There are also nights when it’s just not a realistic proposition for me to forego, say, the pasta with yogurt and caramelized onions that I’ve been craving all week…just because two of the four people at my table will wrinkle their noses in protest when they see it. On those nights, when we all eat together but eat wildly different things, I am not cooking elaborate Plan-B type meals.  I won’t make anything more complicated than peanut butter sandwiches and Annie’s Mac & Cheese if they’re not going along with what’s on the menu. I’ve never felt bad about the PB — it’s a wholesome meal as far as I’m concerned…all-natural peanuts on whole wheat bread. But the Mac & Cheese? Well, it’s organic, but is it nutritious? I stopped feeling guilty about it when my friend Claudia told me a trick she learned from her mother-in-law. Like all brilliant ideas, it’s so simple it’s genius.  She makes Annie’s Mac & Cheese with quinoa. Yes, quinoa, the complete protein that you usually see in the same sentence as the word “superfood.” She mixes an Annie’s cheese pack into a big batch of the stuff and her kids call it Quack and Cheese. My kids still won’t eat quinoa (I feel it, though, they’re getting close) so I thought I’d do a halfway-house version using elbow-shaped quinoa pasta, which you can find at most health and specialty stores. It’s appealingly yellow color made it an easy sell and even though Abby noticed its slightly chewier texture, this didn’t appear to be a deal-breaker.

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Not sure if you’ve noticed, but we’ve been doing a lot of eating in my house lately — and while we always try to keep it relatively artery-friendly, we frequently hit stretches where this is impossible. This past week, for instance, there was the burgers-and-dogs barbecue at a friend’s house, there was the baked-good bacchanalia during the ballet recital intermission, there was Andy’s business dinner at a downtown restaurant that proved to be a five-course ode to butter and cream. This is usually the time we break out our Detox Soup, made in a blender from all things green, and perfect for a warm summer night when you don’t want to turn on the stove.

The kids don’t love the soup as much as we do so we present them with a mini serving and provide cucumber slices and mini whole wheat pitas (no spoon) so they think of it more as a dip than as a soup. (more…)

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