Time for a bit of verse- that's why my blog is called Fifi Verses The World- because I used to do a regular column for Next Magazine (for 8 whole years!) when the completely wonderful Lindsey Dawson was editor there- she gave me my first writing break! I love that woman for all the opportunity and mentoring she gave me- and she is still doing that with great workshops amongst the many wonderful things she does. Go check them out here.
Anyway, about the poem. I wrote this when the kids were small and picky as about food. Drove me bananas and I always said that I'd know when they had grown up because they'd eat a curry. Well now they truly do eat all sorts of things and more than that, our son has become a chef. I would never have thought it when he was 5 years old spurning mushrooms and now at 21 he is totally frustrated with my lack of a pantry. It's not that I don't have one, it's what's in it that he despairs of. Is this really my revenge for all the years of 'I don't like that!' dished up by offspring?
Here's a bit of rhyme for all of you out there who are at your wits end about getting the right foods into your kids...
I'm desperate for Salad Nicoise,
Or sautéed silverbeet,
But chips and chicken nuggets,
Is all they ever eat.
That, and mashed potato,
Instant noodles and mince pies,
I'm sick to death of KFC,
Or anything that fries.
Cooking for them makes me weep,
It's all so frigging bland,
They spurn fresh market produce,
And worship mush that's canned.
The books all say don't worry,
Kids won't starve deliberately,
But mine will three day hunger strike,
Than down a fresh green pea.
That, or search with patience,
Through every scrap of food,
To pick out grains of couscous,
And onion flakes half chewed.
They just don't know I'm plotting,
To avenge my tortured meals,
I want them both to get a taste,
First hand of how it feels.
They'll invite me round to dinner,
When I'm seventy odd years old,
And won't eat sugar, salt, or fat,
...revenge is best served cold.