Tuesday, February 28, 2017

I Don't Care to Chew My Milk

Josiah wearing his dessert

There were seven of us in my family of origin.  Even by my ancient standards, we were a pretty big family.  And big families come with certain rules.  One of the rules was to eat everything on your plate.  With one rare 'oyster' exception that we still talk about to this day, that rule was strictly enforced.  Oh, and my Dad served the plates, meaning that you were not allowed to pass on anything other than dessert.  Apparently, I was not too scarred by the rule, since my sons endured the same requirements.  However, some childhood trauma foods have never been served in my house:  liver, beef heart and Spam, to name three.  Other family favorites like Lima beans and lamb are served here, but with a special exemption issued to ME.

I'm really not that picky an eater.  I've had shark and jicama, edible flowers and head cheese, reindeer and frog legs.  Some I like more than others.  But there is one food, that I don't recall eating as a child, and I want to like as an adult - but I don't.  Everyone around me eats it and sings its praises.  A couple of times a year, I'm sure I will change my mind - or my taste buds, whichever.  Alas, every time, I'm wrong.  I cannot eat yogurt.

Elijah attempting not to waste a drop
In high school, I spent a summer in Finland, where my host family treated me to homemade yogurt, sprinkled with Frosted Flakes.  I went through half a box of cereal and still had half a bowl of yogurt staring up at me when I threw in the towel.  I can't for the life of me make myself like the taste of sour milk.

My grandloves, though, can easily be bribed to eat almost anything as long as they get yogurt for dessert.  They must get that from their Grampa's side.  He has that creamy sour stuff for breakfast most days, so the frig is generally well stocked - and the grands (boys and girls) count on it!  As you can tell, it's a messy kind of treat, at least for those under the age of three.  Actually, the three barrier can breached by silliness, as Josiah proved the other night.  I'm pretty sure his cream-covered nose was an intentional fashion statement

Bryce, the champion Granma breaker
There was one grandboy, though, who not only attempted, but succeeded at the impossible.  Like his cousins, solidified milk was a perpetual favorite for Bryce when he was a baby.  But being an only child for the first five years of life, he was more apt to share his bounty.  Look at those baby-blues and that near toothless smile!  How could I say no to his culinary shareable?  With chubby little, gooey little, germ-y little, yogurt-y baby finger offerings, I knew I was had.  I still can't say I liked it, but I was madly in love with the purveyor.

In case you were wondering, Granma's are not too old to learn new tricks.  Gogurt, in squeezable pouches, deliver their contents more concisely to the mini ones, rendering moot the need to decline a taste from their adorable fingers.  Saved by convenient packaging!

Here's hoping they never develop a taste for Lima beans...

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