People always start a new year with good intentions, particularly when it comes to things like their diets. Like everyone else, Kate and I decreed that the early portion of 2011 would be a defining era in which the three of us would eat more healthily. Well, to paraphrase a well-known singer whose chosen moniker seems to suggest his own great love for food, one out of three ain’t bad.
The one in question is, of course Dylan who, since we started weaning him, has dined like royalty. It’s amazing how many different flavours of baby food are available now; I can’t remember what kind of things I was fed on at that age – unless it was so awful that I repressed the memory. I’m sure, though, it could never compare favourably to the cuisine our greedy little monkey has us shovel down him morning, noon and night. Take the other day, for example; Dylan chowed down on Moroccan lamb with cous cous while we, thanks to a faux pas with regards defrosting some meat, had to settle for a frozen pizza.
There’s no doubt he’s eating better than we are; other recent feasts of his have included a Sunday roast, a pork casserole and a number of fancy Italian pasta-based offerings that wouldn’t look out of place on the menu at Zizzi. Unbelievable!
Still, he’s continuing to devour everything in his path and is never backward in coming forward to very loudly voice his dismay at either the speed at which he is being fed or the presence of an emptied bowl.
This is usually accompanied by banging the tray of his high chair with his tiny fists which, until this point, have been busy being jazz hands for the duration of the meal. I wonder whether adopting some of his direct tactics could make my money go further in restaurants? Now there’s food for thought…