Well, the kids are back at school and, much as I hate to admit it, I miss my little tacker. He is a most unusual child and has a talent for tilting the world on its edge. This is the one who, when asked what he hoped to get for Christmas said, "baked salmon with a hollandaise sauce." Hmm.
Not surprisingly, we spent much of the holidays cooking and eating (especially since my fruit trees are in full production.) While my oldest son was away at camp, I took the young one to breakfast at the Raspberry Farm. Don't let the name fool you. This place is more Cordon Blue than true blue Oz, very up-market whether you're there for breakfast, lunch, dinner or snacks and I would heartily recommend you visit if you're ever in this neck of the world. Naturally there's a heavy emphasis on raspberries on the menu (even in the coffee), grown fresh on the premises.
Anyway, the raspberry farm has a child's menu which the waitress handed to him once we were seated, and an adult menu which she handed to me. My kid can read like an adult and probably twice as fast, so even upside down across the table he had my menu sussed within the first five minutes. Time came for the waitress to take our orders. He curled his lip at the poached eggs, and sausage in a blanket and tapped his menu card like a disgruntled food critic.
"I don't suppose you do a child's version of the smoked salmon scrambled eggs," he asked.
The woman smiled indulgently. "I'm sure we could arrange it," she said, nodding to me like she thought this was my idea. This was the first I knew about it, though I had told him to have whatever he wanted since we don't go out to eat very often lately.
"Good," he said, going back to his menu. "I'd rather it be served on a bagette, than toast. Does it come with capers?"
By this time she looked ready to fall out of her frilly apron. "Um… we can do capers or dill," she says with a deer-under-headlights glance at me.
"Fine. Just go with the dill then. And a small serve of waffles and raspberry icecream with …" He batts his baby blues at her. "Do you make your own fresh coullis?"
"Y-y-yes," she stammers. Her throat works. You can see she's dying to get back to the kitchen to tell everyone a story they're not going to believe.
"Fine. I'll go with that then."
He passes her the menu and she walks away. She's gone maybe halfway across the floor before she remembers to come back and take my order, too. I'm biting my lip, trying desperately not to laugh. I've seen him do this many times before.
Now before you think he's a little man of the world and sure to go places, let me shatter your illusions by adding that he tucked his napkin under his chin, got sauce all over his face and the table, and ate so much he puked on their lawn on the way out. Charming! But one thing is for sure, the boy knows food. And don't even get me started on my 13 yr old's love of blue cheese! I'm not sure how I got such strange kids.