Would You Like Frustration With That?

Why is it that some people like restaurant food more than home cooked fare? I don't mean people who would rather eat in a restaurant because they don't want to cook. I mean people who have nothing to do but enjoy the fruits of another's labor or be treated to dinner. Either way the person eating didn't have to cook, clean up, or pay. So why would that person prefer to eat out?

This question only tickles at the edge of my brain when my son picks at something I've made, yet would devour it if I had picked it up in a box as take out. For example, last night I was hankering for something Italian. I didn't want the plain old spaghetti dinner, so I dove into the fridge and emerged with an eggplant, yellow squash, zucchini, and mozzarella cheese. Considering the wholesome goodness of these basic ingredients, I can't see how anything made of them could be bad. So I cut the veggies into bite-sized pieces, dipped them in a bath of milk and beaten egg, and rolled them in a mixture of crushed corn flakes, Panko bread crumbs, salt, pepper, and Italian seasoning. Following this process I spread them across two cookie sheets and baked them at 400 degrees for 20 minutes. At the end of this period I created three layers of the crispy-coated tender vegetables with pasta sauce and mozzarella cheese, and baked that concoction at 350 for another 30 minutes. The result was a luscious, full-bodied meal in which the vegetables melded with their coating, the sauce, and cheese to create a beautiful casserole.

This dish was served up with some hot, buttered noodles. My son, a fan of Italian food who would have devoured this had it come with a price tag of 9.99 in an individual ramekin at Olive Garden, picked at a few bites, complained he wasn't hungry, and sat staring at his plate through dinner. Ostensibly, his stomach hurt, but over the years I have learned that is code for, "This isn't what I want to eat."

This trick has never gotten him anything, to be sure. Since he was a small child, my son has been given the same food my husband and I eat. If he didn't eat it, he was allowed to be hungry. This may sound cruel, but giving in to a child's whims on cuisine is just not in my repertoire. I refused then (and now) to make a pan of macaroni and cheese, slap together a sandwich, or offer a bowl of oatmeal when a perfectly acceptable dinner is on the table. So, I'm not really sure where my son learned to be finicky, but it does vex me.

Perhaps it is a control issue - he doesn't eat because he is peeved. Perhaps it is a teenager thing - he doesn't eat because he doesn't really know what he wants at any given moment. Perhaps it is a stress indicator - he doesn't eat because he's worried about school or friends. Whichever of the million possible explanations it truly is, I always have this nagging feeling that he doesn't eat it to spite me. In reality, that's an egocentric view since it presumes that I have that much control over his feelings - which I don't. (Have I mentioned he's nearly 15?)

Either way, last night was one of those evenings. After dinner he disappeared into the cavernous basement to play a video game. An hour later, he appeared in the kitchen digging through the cupboard in search of canned ravioli. When I pointed out that we had leftovers, he shrugged and apologized. "You know I still love you, Mom," he said. "I just want the ravioli." Go figure.