I think by now I’ve made it clear how much of an inspiration Peg Bracken’s I Hate to Cook Book has been in my life. Not because the recipes are good — quite the contrary, in fact. With brilliantly nostalgic (but not-so-appealing) names like Ham Lime Supper and Fast Cheese Scallop, I’ve never been tempted to cook even one. The writing, on the other hand, holds up remarkably well. A former ad copywriter, Bracken is the master of the zinger, and sets up a chapter like nobody’s business. Whenever I’m in a rut (writing, cooking, or both) I find myself breaking open my way-yellowed, barely-bound paperback copy, then inevitably following Andy around the house reading entire paragraphs to him (“..And now listen to this one!”) Like this intro to her chapter about entertaining.
“When you hate to cook, you should never accept an invitation to dinner. The reason is plain: Sooner or later, unless you have luckily disgraced yourself at their home, or unless they get transferred to Weehawken, you will have to return the invitation.”
Last year, while I was at an impasse writing my own book, I remember reading Andy the first page of IHTCB, then him replying, “I know what you mean. Every sentence is perfect.”
Well, this morning I started flipping through it again and came upon the section where she compiles seventy-five of her most favorite household hints. (But not before she ridicules the whole concept of household hints up and down and all around, God love her.) And then I saw this one:
“You can get a small sick youngster to eat more food, more happily, if you serve him an eight-course meal in a muffin tin. Many little bits of things — a spoonful of applesauce, a few green beans, a few little candies, etc — are more appetizing than three items in quantity.”
I’m not sure what age she was talking about when she refers to a “small sick youngster” but I’d be willing to bet that this trick might work nicely for small youngsters who aren’t sick…for small youngsters whose parents would do just about anything — including make muffin-tin tapas (with cupcake papers!) after clocking nine hours at the office — to get their finicky eater excited about trying something new. When Abby was a toddler suffering from her own bout of ingestus particulare, I know she would’ve been all over it. Above, I put together a sample selection of what might work in our house: cheddar cubes, broccoli, turkey meatballs, yellow peppers, baby ravioli, apricot halves. But I’m willing to bet you know better than me what should be in yours. Let me know how it goes.