Orange and Corn Salsa

Do animals have the terrible twos?

Belle loves birds. Duck was one of her first words. For her first Christmas, we bought her an Audubon bird guide and she was excited. So, this spring, she enjoyed seeing the baby ducklings at the park. In my delicate condition, I felt a strange empathy and connection to the ducky mom. I might have been projecting, but I swear I could see the ambivalence in her eyes. But a few months ago, she was a one-woman show and now all of sudden she had an army following her.

Sure those little duckies were cute, but that adorableness comes at a price. Each little one had its own mind. Two or three babies were the easy going sort; they were amiably picking at the water plants. And, in every family, there are one or two who don’t follow the rules. One was tipping back and forth in a way that would worry me; though of course the ducklings were born to swim. And, another little one kept trying to swim away.

Of the scene, the duck mom vacillated between giving her young some knowing looks and munching away on lunch. I couldn't help but wonder if some of those little duckies were more ornery than others. Dogs have distinct personalities. Why not birds? I wondered if she was tired at quacking at the ones who strayed. Then again, the consequences of disobedience for a baby duck are life-threatening.




At our house, the consequences of disobedience are so much smaller. If she doesn't listen to me, there is but the chance of a spoiled brat. For fear that I would only encourage pickiness, I have tried to turn a blind eye to her caprices. Until she turned 2, she was not picky at all.

Then, she learned the power of no. Oh, I never really knew how much I would hear that word. Now, even when we make food she likes, it is a 50/50 proposition that she will consume anything.

We try to make a mix of new foods and givens. Grilled cheese is one such given; we did quesadillas. Oddly enough, beans are a perenial favorite; we made black beans. And, then as she is half-Asian, rice is a staple; we did tomato rice. For the grownups, we made a quick orange, charred corn, red onion, lime juice, cilantro salsa/ salad. Of course, we offered this salsa to Belle, but she is really not a fan of oranges.

So other than the salsa, it should have been a home-run dinner, but the little missy didn't touch it. I don't know about birds, but humans sure experience the terrible twos.

Mango Oatmeal Cookies

The act of defining oneself is an obsession of youth. When I was in high school, I wouldn't be caught dead in brown shoes. Mind you, they were a requirement of our uniform. Everyone morning, we would line up for assembly in our too short navy blue tartan skirts. Down the line, spindly legs ended in penny loafers and brown saddle shoes. Somewhere in all that order and propriety, I stood with my friends with my steel-toed Doc Martens. We all need to learn to take a stand and that was mine, inconsequential as it was. (Adulthood it seems to me is about shedding the need to assume xyz are the only things that make you cool.)

Recently, Belle has become increasingly verbal. She has explained many things about her life that I did not know: at school when they watch a movie, there is always popcorn; her sitter lets her do whatever she wants; and her grandfather's car is messy. She has also started telling me who she is. She is someone who wears pretty shoes, who wears pink dresses to birthday parties, and who does not like potatoes. Most importantly, she eats cookies. I don't actually mean Belle eats cookies; I mean she defines herself as a cookie eater. When introduced to strangers (donors at my work, her second-cousins, her doctor), she tells them, "Hello, I eat cookies." It is who she is, apparently. Of course, like all good mothers, I impede her abilities of self-definition. I have never actually given her a cookie. Graham crackers, cupcakes, sure. But cookies? I don't really like cookies and never even thought to give her one.

Children, of course, have plenty of influences. In my daughter's case, many of them, like my father, are bad ones. Clearly she has tasted and liked cookies somewhere. I wonder what that first taste was like. It must have really made an impact. Because, now, I have a little cookie monster on my hands.

Belle has been unsettled in the last few weeks as I have been fairly incapacitated. My mother thought making cookies with the two year old would lift her spirits. While the process was messy; it was fun. There were some tears when Belle realized the cookie batter needed to be baked before consumption. (Usually when I bake with her, I make vegan so she can taste the batter.) The result once baked was delicious (though I can't really consume lots of cookies right now.) My husband had two after dinner--apparently, he too eats cookies.



Recipe
Mango Oatmeal Cookies

Cream:
1 stick butter
1 cup sugar

Mix in:
1 egg
2 T light brown sugar
1.5 cups flour
1/2 t salt
1 T baking powder
2 t cardamom powder
1 cup overripe mango, diced
2 t rose water
1/4 cup pistachios, roughly chopped
2 T yogurt (I used Mango Lime flavored but vanilla would be okay)

Fold in
1 1/2 cup rolled oats

Bake at 350 for 8-12 minutes. Makes about 36 cookies.

This is also my entry for Mango Mela held by Srivalli of Cooking 4 All Seasons.

Going to the Movies?

I usually don't make these sorts of plugs, but this is for a friend...

For those of you in Cleveland, you should consider going to the Art Museum to see the movie Food Fight at 6:45 on June 3. And, if learning about organic food culture is not enough enticement, how about the fact that our very own Michael Ruhlman will be gracing everyone with his presence. (It is only $8, CMA members $6)

Can't make it but want to watch other great movies? Here is full listing of movies at the museum.