Sloppy Josephine
I'm told we're having a special lunch, today. :) I'm told that Sherry has chosen this lunch, and that she's very excited about it. "Oh?" I look at Sherry. "What are we having, honey?" "Sloppy Joes!" Oh dear. I mentally run through the ingredient list for canned sloppy-joe mix... bell peppers, onions, tomato sauce... oh dear.
"Sherry, sweetheart? Have you ever actually HAD sloppy-joes?" She looks at me as though saddened by the realization of the depths of my ignorance. "Of COURSE I have," she answers. "I eat them at school all the time!" Oh dear.
"What's Eddy having?" I ask Paul. "He's having buttered noodles." Ah. Well, at least one of the kids will eat today. And how's this for a twist... I HATE sloppy joes. Oh dear.
Paul is bustling happily in the kitchen, always pleased to be able to prepare nice meals for his family. God, I love that man. He turns and smiles at me, "I'm serving them on those wonderful onion rolls, too!" Oh dear. I glance quickly at Sherry... yes, she heard him. And yes, her mouth is pressed tight into a slight frown. Oh dear.
A few minutes later, a serving of sloppy-joe appears at my place at the table. It's as lovely a presentation of this dish as I've ever seen. Identical portions, each as lovely as mine, grace Sherry and Paul's places at the table, too. Eddy's plate is covered in warm, buttery noodles, topped with fresh parmesan cheese. We're seated, and the meal begins.
Eddy's noodles are a big hit. Buttered noodles are one of his favorite "dishes," and he's careful to observe good table manners while still eating enthusiastically. I compliment him on his excellent manners and receive a thumbs-up in response.
I've eaten about half of my sloppy-joe, now, and sure enough, I still don't like the damn things. Yuck. At least I can appreciate the effort that went into them, and how well-prepared they are.
A look at Sherry and her progress is not encouraging. She's meticulously picking tiny bits of burger-meat and wiping off as much sauce as possible, then nibbling the burger bites; the supporting onion rolls are untouched beneath the sauce and meat mixture. Oh dear.
I catch Paul's eye and frown toward Sherry's plate.
"Sherry? Honey? Why aren't you eating? I thought you were really looking forward to this meal, sweetheart." Sherry looks up at him, answering, "Daddy... I don't like the bread." Damn. I knew she'd heard the word "onion roll" earlier. Oh dear. Paul laughs and tells her, "Sherry, there's no way that bread tastes any different under all that sauce from any other bun or bread that you've had in the past. And besides, you haven't even TRIED a bite of it. Eat up, sweetie."
A few minutes later, I'm finished eating. I didn't like it, but could appreciate it. And it was filling. I smile at Paul and thank him for the lunch. Almost reflexively, we both glance at Sherry's plate; nothing has really changed, there. Paul sighs. Oh dear.
"Sherry? Why aren't you eating your lunch, honey? I made it specially for you." Sherry sighs, unconsciously mimicking her father's frustration and defeat. "I don't like it, Daddy. I don't want to eat it." "Sherry! You ASKED for it! I bought the ingredients because YOU asked for it! What's wrong with it?!" "It isn't like what they serve at school." Oh dear.
"FINE. Scrape your plate in the trash. Next time you want to ask for a particular meal, don't bother." Sherry scrapes her plate, then returns to her place at the table. "Daddy?" she asks, "What's for dessert?"
"Sherry, sweetheart? Have you ever actually HAD sloppy-joes?" She looks at me as though saddened by the realization of the depths of my ignorance. "Of COURSE I have," she answers. "I eat them at school all the time!" Oh dear.
"What's Eddy having?" I ask Paul. "He's having buttered noodles." Ah. Well, at least one of the kids will eat today. And how's this for a twist... I HATE sloppy joes. Oh dear.
Paul is bustling happily in the kitchen, always pleased to be able to prepare nice meals for his family. God, I love that man. He turns and smiles at me, "I'm serving them on those wonderful onion rolls, too!" Oh dear. I glance quickly at Sherry... yes, she heard him. And yes, her mouth is pressed tight into a slight frown. Oh dear.
A few minutes later, a serving of sloppy-joe appears at my place at the table. It's as lovely a presentation of this dish as I've ever seen. Identical portions, each as lovely as mine, grace Sherry and Paul's places at the table, too. Eddy's plate is covered in warm, buttery noodles, topped with fresh parmesan cheese. We're seated, and the meal begins.
Eddy's noodles are a big hit. Buttered noodles are one of his favorite "dishes," and he's careful to observe good table manners while still eating enthusiastically. I compliment him on his excellent manners and receive a thumbs-up in response.
I've eaten about half of my sloppy-joe, now, and sure enough, I still don't like the damn things. Yuck. At least I can appreciate the effort that went into them, and how well-prepared they are.
A look at Sherry and her progress is not encouraging. She's meticulously picking tiny bits of burger-meat and wiping off as much sauce as possible, then nibbling the burger bites; the supporting onion rolls are untouched beneath the sauce and meat mixture. Oh dear.
I catch Paul's eye and frown toward Sherry's plate.
"Sherry? Honey? Why aren't you eating? I thought you were really looking forward to this meal, sweetheart." Sherry looks up at him, answering, "Daddy... I don't like the bread." Damn. I knew she'd heard the word "onion roll" earlier. Oh dear. Paul laughs and tells her, "Sherry, there's no way that bread tastes any different under all that sauce from any other bun or bread that you've had in the past. And besides, you haven't even TRIED a bite of it. Eat up, sweetie."
A few minutes later, I'm finished eating. I didn't like it, but could appreciate it. And it was filling. I smile at Paul and thank him for the lunch. Almost reflexively, we both glance at Sherry's plate; nothing has really changed, there. Paul sighs. Oh dear.
"Sherry? Why aren't you eating your lunch, honey? I made it specially for you." Sherry sighs, unconsciously mimicking her father's frustration and defeat. "I don't like it, Daddy. I don't want to eat it." "Sherry! You ASKED for it! I bought the ingredients because YOU asked for it! What's wrong with it?!" "It isn't like what they serve at school." Oh dear.
"FINE. Scrape your plate in the trash. Next time you want to ask for a particular meal, don't bother." Sherry scrapes her plate, then returns to her place at the table. "Daddy?" she asks, "What's for dessert?"
posted by Aunty Social at 7:58 PM
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