Children Will Eat Anything...Or not

Recently the calendar showed a marked reluctance to move forward from the snow and damp days of February and early March to the Spring Break that I am currently enjoying. Yes, it is cold and rainny, but it is on my time and I can stay inside, drinking tea and writing thoughts. At school there was this dead horse that I was beating, called curriculm by some, and "boring" by my young charges. What to do, what to do. I went into work on a Saturday morning and pulled all the tired projects from the walls and cleaned the counters of former projects. I substituted a map of the world and the Food Pyramid. My plan was to bring in food, taste or try on a daily basis, tracking the country of origin, place on the food pyramid, and count the days until Spring Break.
On the firsrt day I brought in Russian Black Bread from an amazing bakery in Brewry Town. The boys loved it! The next day we tried won -tons I got from my favorite Chinese market, and with momentum building I thought I would make sushi for my Kindergarten students. First I showed them the Nashiki rice and was well recieved. Then I julienned carrots and celery, adding a bit of cucumber and thinly sliced avocado. Still on firm ground I added a bit of tabasco sauce to a pouch of lemon pepper tuna for spicy tuna rolls. So far, so good. Now, the moment of truth, I showed them the nori and expained that I would wrap the good food into the scary seaweed. There was an audible gasp but soon the engineering feat overcame their skeptiism and I sliced the veggie roll and the spicy tuna roll. I was shocked when all my students tried a little of the new taste treat. Wow, my goal had been reached; they would try something if it was presented with respect.
Okay, so now I am unstoppable. I've got a map with strings pointing to where foods came from and children who are open to new sensations.It couldn't get better I write to the parents in a newsletter. I was wrong, it got better, much better. Now parents were volunteering to make meals, bring in stories, and even to visit with grandmother over the break to get the Danish cookie iron or the perogie recipe to share with the class. I had a student, aged 5, call me on Sunday morning to say he liked the food and could his mom make something.
The children are learning about geography and they pointed out that we had not had anything to eat from the big orange country, Australia to us. I called one of my former parents and asked what I might look for, expecting to hear the word, kiwi or something. "Oh Winnie, how propitious, my mother is coming from Australia on Saturday. Would you like her to make a Pavlova and bring it in to your class?" For those of you who only know Pavlova as an elegant ballerina, it is a sumptuious food also. Imagine a wreath of merange filled with whipped cream and berries, and you have a Pavlova to dream about. So at this time we have had Ugali, the national Dish of Kenya, the Feast of St. Joseph from Italy ( a whole entry in and of itself) kielbasi made by grandfather, spaghetti and meatballs, and Pavlova. We have a long line-up for after the Spring break including Danish cookies that sound like waffles with" kakke" at the end of thier name, Mexican food, grandmother's perogies, blinis and caviar from Russia, matza ball soup, and chips and salsa. With the connecting generations and the enthusiasm of all those involved, this little project that was going to mark time, has become to date one of the most engaging projects I have added to my curriculm in years. The big question is," Can it ever be repeated?'

Comfort Food

I began the holiday with two new books, both of which I asked for, recieving them from family and friends. I learned how they were related only after spending time with both, plowing through what was supposed to be a difficult holiday, the first one after the death of my mother in November. The first book, a collection of essays by food editor, Alan Richman was a no brainer gift from a good friend. "Fork It Over "is great fun to read, but surprisingly I found myself connected on a personal level. He writes of his early encounter with pastrami at his favorite eatery, The Chuckwagon, in Elkins Park no less. My cousins and I spent a great deal of time there as kids. Imagine my delight, catching up on old-times through this book. I was unprepared for the bittersweet recounting of his mother's cooking and her decline as a 90 year old. I have memories of my Great-Grandmother, who was the cook in my early life. She would take three busses to get to our house where she would take over the kitchen making foods I can't name but can certainly remember. She would knead dough for her potatoe dumplings. The dough was so thin you could see her little hands through it. The duplings were like perogies or knishes but are neither. If you know the Latvian name for these pan fried delights I would love to know what they are called and a recipe for them. My own mother was not a cook, preferring to work, bringing home chicken that she reheated in the toaster oven. Mom was the queen of take-out, remembering telephone numbers before the days of speed-dial. But my mother could knit. She was undaunted by sequins, mohair, angora or tough patterns. I had a collection of sweaters that would be the envy of all today. She would see Sophia Loren wear some glam -shell in a movie and set about knitting it, wearing it for the next formal get- together. My sister and I used to tease my mother saying that she could "knit a chicken". I'm pretty sure that was a line from a Woody Allen movie, maybe Annie Hall or something. Which brings me to my second new book, "Stitch and Bitch" While riding on the train I saw a Chicks With Sticks girl reading this book. Obviously the title is an attention getter, but it has patterns and suggestions that fit with my non-knitter knitting sensibility. So I'm knitting and yes, bitching, I can't really knit, and I'm thinking about the two books that came my way . Connecting me to my mother, whom I thought was lost to me years before her death, I felt comfort. My past was funny and very rich, and I can call up very positive pieces using my hands and the gifts my friends and family share with me, not the least of which are good books. Quite a special gift and I am grateful and comforted. Happy Holidays.

the curse of the table

I used to think that food was like male-pattern baldness in my family; it skips a generation. Lately I have been examining some of my basic assumptions, however, and I find that I am connected to several generations of excellent women through my cooking and love of the table. During one of these meandering journeys I discovered that we have broken the mold, or the curse if you will, and my sons are cooking also. So the question becomes,"How are we connected and why do we nurture the way we do?". No more curse, just sharing and good food.