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January 23, 2005

'At'sa Spicy Meatboy!

One would think that an almost two-year-old would not gobble down bits of Emeril's Kicked Up Smoked Sausage like it was candy, but in Scotty's case one would be wrong.

Breakfast these past few mornings has been an egg and cheese concoction close in nature to that of a frittata, but lacking the other ingredients one would typically find in an Italian peasant's morning repast, such as garlic, onions, leafy greens, more garlic, and a heaping helping of tragic irony.

Ngnat calls it "egg pizza," a description I must admit is apt. The base dish consists of five eggs, milk, baking powder, and salt and pepper, all of which are whipped together with a hand mixer that looks powerful enough to be a trolling motor, yet is light enough that Ngnat can handle it, which she insists on doing, much to the chagrin of Scotty M, who thinks he should be in charge of handling the electric kitchen devices. Usually I pacify him with a whisk, which he bangs excitedly into the eggs and milk until Ngnat is ready to perform her duties in the food prep chain. Then they both stand in the chairs they've set up beside the kitchen island and pester me about when breakfast will be ready while I finish up.

Well, Ngnat pesters. Scotty mostly gibbers and shrieks.

Once it's mixed and bubbly, I pour the egg glop into a frying pan, top it with cheddar, cook it on medium low for 7 or 8 minutes, then pop it into an oven set for "broil." This is almost always my own oven, as the neighbors tend to get demonstrative when I try to use theirs. Once the cheese browns, we slid the.....I guess one would call it a "naked frittata"--unless one were a Baptist, it which case it would be an "unclothed," "sinful," or "demon-cursed" frittata--out of the frying pan and onto the cutting board. Slice it up with a pizza cutter into triangles--hence the name "egg pizza," as if being round and brown were not reason enough--and serve.

This morning I had time to experiment with that basic recipe, it being too cold and the highways too slippery to attend upon Jesus, and decided to invited the above-mentioned sausage, sliced into thin, neat circles and seasoned with only trace amounts of my blood, to the party. It would add a bit of spice to the to-do, I felt.

What always remains after a sausage is slice up are the ends, pinched up and twisted as if someone had turned a rectum inside out. They are, of course, the best bits. By this point Scotty had long forgotten his whisk, and was loudly demanding sustenance, so I sliced one up and slid the pieces over to him.

"This'll teach you," I thought to myself, though what exactly I thought he would learn from the experience remains unclear. "Don't bother Daddy in the morning until he's had his coffee," seems like it was in the running, but "Bitch at Daddy and you'll get a nasty surprise," is a more accurate description, I think.

In any case, what he actually learned was that spicy sausage kicks ass.

"Bam!" he said, pounding his chubby fist on the island and demanding more.

Well...not "Bam!" exactly. What he actually said was more along the lines of "Manana iggle bennie pop!" but it meant the same thing. Now keenly interested in the scientific ramifications of feeding a toddler all the spicy sausage he could want, I sliced up the other squinched-up nuggets of stuffed pig intestine (pre-cooked, mind you. I'm not some sort of monster) and gave them over to the boy, who devoured them all with every appearance of pleasure. His sister tried one, made a face, and asked for milk.

I'm thinking about seeing what he thinks about cream cheese stuffed jalapenos, next--purely in the spirit of scientific enquiry, of course.

Posted by Bigwig at January 23, 2005 02:53 PM | TrackBack
Postscript:
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Comments

Ours is a spicey-food fiend too, and we found out essentially the same way (only this time it was "it's not nice to bitch at mommy, here eat this...")

She tends to prefer the jalapenos stuffed with cheddar though.

Posted by: scott at January 23, 2005 03:57 PM

One of the best scenes in the movie Mr. Mom is when the baby gets into the canned chili. I suggest you view it again and then get out the gas masks for the next diaper. (Or pass the kid off to your spouse.)

Posted by: joated at January 23, 2005 04:24 PM

That sounds like Jessica, when she was little. I didn't dare leave salsa or pizza in reach, or it was plain gone. I ordered a small Domino's when she was two (this was when they still had smalls), sprinkled it with red pepper and then the phone rang. When I came back (like ten minutes or so later), she had eaten the whole thing, red pepper and all.

Posted by: kschlenker at January 23, 2005 04:59 PM

Ah, yes. I look forward to the day when Scotty reaches adulthood, when I can dare him to eat bugs, strange foods, and anything else that comes to mind. Just like his daddy.

Posted by: Hrairoo at January 23, 2005 11:17 PM

My evil spawn has similar tastes. At 10 months, as he was transitioning to human food (as opposed to the paste version of soylent green they feed kids) he sat with us at dinner one night, refusing to eat his browned hamburger. He started pounding on the tray of his kiddie chair, and shrieking. SW asks what he wants, I said, "I dunno. Give him a whack of the taco meat and see what he does with it."

Wife shrugged and did what she was told, not because she obeys me or anything but because she has been in a hormone-induced bout of mindlessness more or less sporadically since the kid was born.

Well, what do you know, but that bugger started stuffing in the spiced meat, and then pounded his table for some more. Since then, he's had dry rubbed ribs, Carolina style barbecue (or barbecue, as it's known); spicy spaghetti vesuvio (hot peppers, roast garlic); and he's a fiend for pepperoni pizza, eating two slices on Friday night. Not bad for a 13 month old. Wierd little kid digests it just fine and now rejects the old bland stuff like Gerber baby cereal... So much for giving him bland food.

Posted by: Blackavar at January 23, 2005 11:39 PM

That boy has apparently inherited his grandfather's southern Mississippi/Louisiana love of spicy foods and, I hope, a lead-lined stomach as well. Common breafkast fare in your dad's Mississippi household during the Depression was biscuits slathered with Louisiana Hot Sauce.

Posted by: Yomamma at January 24, 2005 10:17 AM

That boy has apparently inherited his grandfather's southern Mississippi/Louisiana love of spicy foods and, I hope, a lead-lined stomach as well. Common breafkast fare in your dad's Mississippi household during the Depression was biscuits slathered with Louisiana Hot Sauce.

Posted by: Yomamma at January 24, 2005 10:17 AM

Lotsa Mexican restaurants here in GSO, which is good because they tend to be cheap and kid-friendly. As a result, both my kids were eating chips 'n' salsa, heavy on the latter, from about 15 months on.

I was 23 before I started eating salsa.

Posted by: Lex at January 24, 2005 04:46 PM
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