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LJ Idol Week 13 - Omakase
Oct. 28th, 2024 05:28 pmAstrid stood beside the gleaming silver refrigerator and wiped her hands on her apron. Thoughtful, she surreptitiously eyed the guy sitting at the table by the window and took a centering breath. Seated at "his" spot, where he could watch the action out on the lawn, he was a critic, a whiny baby in a blue shirt that sometimes slid up over his sizeable belly. When she caught sight of it riding up over his tummy, it made her giggle to herself as she prepared his meal. But if he was displeased she wouldn't be laughing. He had no qualms about raising his voice in displeasure, slapping his palms on the table as though she had intentionally prepared something he would despise. It was up to her to pick the meal when he was sat on that throne-like chair. This was a dance they had done many times before and she could never be sure of the outcome.
How can one know the palate of another? And yet she tried, again and again to appease his culinary whims, proffering a mixture of known favorites and new flavors to discern what might leave him with a smile and a full stomach on this night. Perversely, what he welcomed, or simply tolerated changes daily. Today he loves green peas, tomorrow she will find them pushed aside. So picky was his palate and yet that was the expectation, that she would manage the menu and he would approve or deny her efforts.
And why did she allow it? Why did she dance this off-kilter tango of desperate presentation and rejection? Because she loved to please him, despite the fits of temper and his ever changeable constitution. When he was happy with what she placed before him, placed in his mouth, he would smile at her with a beatific grin, no less stunning than sun spilling over the tops of stormy clouds. The warmth of it floods her heart like nothing ever has before him. No words of affirmation would he utter nor would he leave her anything so cheap as money, his approval was the payment she craved for her efforts, and she basked in his happiness.
Tonight, she turns some music on, a little bluegrass to put a bounce in her step. She starts his meal with mild cheeses and soft crackers to keep him occupied as she prepares the rest of his dinner. Glancing over her shoulder, she notes he is thoughtfully crunching away as she contemplates her supply shelves. On this chilly autumn evening perhaps a hearty stew would satiate him - boiled potatoes, soft carrots, a hint of tomato for acidity and beef chopped fine. He has never been much of a fan of chewing. "Let's see how it goes," she thinks optimistically and reaches into the cabinet.
Pulling down the jar of Gerber Baby Food, she unscrews the metal lid with a pop and spoons the thick slurry into a bowl. She places it into the microwave and watches it rotate around for just a few seconds before the bell chimes, don't want to burn her baby's sensitive mouth. Astrid stirs the thick goop in the bowl to even the temperature throughout and takes a quick spoonful to check the temp with her own tongue. She grimaces a little. "Definitely needs salt" she thinks, "and some herbs and a clove of garlic and something solid in there might also be nice," she laughed to herself. Good thing this wasn't her dinner!
She walks to the kitchen table and sits in front of her son, smiling warmly. His tummy pokes out of his shirt like a Pooh Bear and she and pulls it gently down over his perfect belly button. "How's it going, buddy? You like those crackers?" she asks him. He nods enthusiastically, because who doesn't love cheese and crackers? "Yes," she intones, validating his bobbing head. "Cheese is good."
"Guess what we're gonna try tonight?" she asks in a singsong voice. "Stew!" She brandishes the spoon before her. His forehead creases, not sure what this stew thing is all about. "Mmmhmmm. Stew. So tasty. Are you ready?"
His eyes narrow. Is this "stew" gonna be like banana because he really wants it to be like banana. Or is it going to be more like asparagus which he hopes his mama never puts in his mouth again? He watches his mother carefully. She scoops out some of the goop in the bowl - it doesn't look like banana - and takes a nibble of it herself. "Oooh, yummy," she says and reaches the spoon toward him, offering an encouraging look.
He likes yummy, yummy is his favorite, but sometimes yummy means banana and sometimes asparagus. He pinches his mouth together tightly for a moment but then the smells on the spoon reach his nose. Not banana, but it smells good so he slowly opens his lips.
Astrid pops the stew into the baby's mouth and holds her breath expectantly. If he's not a fan, this could be one messy dining experience. He rolls the bite around on his tongue, forehead creasing again, thoughtful. Then his eyes open wide. Stew IS yummy! He bangs his fist on the table in approval and opens his toothless mouth wide like a hungry little carp. Astrid pops another bite into his mouth and exclaims "You like it! Awesome! Let's have some more!"
And there it is. Her son swallows the second bite and smiles at her and she just melts with happiness, with relief. No dinner theatrics for them on this night! There's already a meaty mess forming around his mouth and she tries ineffectively to dab at it with his bib. "Bath time is going to be a mess, I can tell!" she laughs to her sweet baby. But for right now, they dance in sync, and soon he will be able to guide her with the menu.
How can one know the palate of another? And yet she tried, again and again to appease his culinary whims, proffering a mixture of known favorites and new flavors to discern what might leave him with a smile and a full stomach on this night. Perversely, what he welcomed, or simply tolerated changes daily. Today he loves green peas, tomorrow she will find them pushed aside. So picky was his palate and yet that was the expectation, that she would manage the menu and he would approve or deny her efforts.
And why did she allow it? Why did she dance this off-kilter tango of desperate presentation and rejection? Because she loved to please him, despite the fits of temper and his ever changeable constitution. When he was happy with what she placed before him, placed in his mouth, he would smile at her with a beatific grin, no less stunning than sun spilling over the tops of stormy clouds. The warmth of it floods her heart like nothing ever has before him. No words of affirmation would he utter nor would he leave her anything so cheap as money, his approval was the payment she craved for her efforts, and she basked in his happiness.
Tonight, she turns some music on, a little bluegrass to put a bounce in her step. She starts his meal with mild cheeses and soft crackers to keep him occupied as she prepares the rest of his dinner. Glancing over her shoulder, she notes he is thoughtfully crunching away as she contemplates her supply shelves. On this chilly autumn evening perhaps a hearty stew would satiate him - boiled potatoes, soft carrots, a hint of tomato for acidity and beef chopped fine. He has never been much of a fan of chewing. "Let's see how it goes," she thinks optimistically and reaches into the cabinet.
Pulling down the jar of Gerber Baby Food, she unscrews the metal lid with a pop and spoons the thick slurry into a bowl. She places it into the microwave and watches it rotate around for just a few seconds before the bell chimes, don't want to burn her baby's sensitive mouth. Astrid stirs the thick goop in the bowl to even the temperature throughout and takes a quick spoonful to check the temp with her own tongue. She grimaces a little. "Definitely needs salt" she thinks, "and some herbs and a clove of garlic and something solid in there might also be nice," she laughed to herself. Good thing this wasn't her dinner!
She walks to the kitchen table and sits in front of her son, smiling warmly. His tummy pokes out of his shirt like a Pooh Bear and she and pulls it gently down over his perfect belly button. "How's it going, buddy? You like those crackers?" she asks him. He nods enthusiastically, because who doesn't love cheese and crackers? "Yes," she intones, validating his bobbing head. "Cheese is good."
"Guess what we're gonna try tonight?" she asks in a singsong voice. "Stew!" She brandishes the spoon before her. His forehead creases, not sure what this stew thing is all about. "Mmmhmmm. Stew. So tasty. Are you ready?"
His eyes narrow. Is this "stew" gonna be like banana because he really wants it to be like banana. Or is it going to be more like asparagus which he hopes his mama never puts in his mouth again? He watches his mother carefully. She scoops out some of the goop in the bowl - it doesn't look like banana - and takes a nibble of it herself. "Oooh, yummy," she says and reaches the spoon toward him, offering an encouraging look.
He likes yummy, yummy is his favorite, but sometimes yummy means banana and sometimes asparagus. He pinches his mouth together tightly for a moment but then the smells on the spoon reach his nose. Not banana, but it smells good so he slowly opens his lips.
Astrid pops the stew into the baby's mouth and holds her breath expectantly. If he's not a fan, this could be one messy dining experience. He rolls the bite around on his tongue, forehead creasing again, thoughtful. Then his eyes open wide. Stew IS yummy! He bangs his fist on the table in approval and opens his toothless mouth wide like a hungry little carp. Astrid pops another bite into his mouth and exclaims "You like it! Awesome! Let's have some more!"
And there it is. Her son swallows the second bite and smiles at her and she just melts with happiness, with relief. No dinner theatrics for them on this night! There's already a meaty mess forming around his mouth and she tries ineffectively to dab at it with his bib. "Bath time is going to be a mess, I can tell!" she laughs to her sweet baby. But for right now, they dance in sync, and soon he will be able to guide her with the menu.
