As infants, our kids ate a variety of veggies. From day one, my wife Allison made the kids’ solid food, and we felt pleased as our adventurous young eaters devoured pureed broccoli, butternut squash, green beans, and even asparagus. But as the kids have gotten older, it has become more difficult to get them to eat veggies with dinner.
Whether it’s taste bud changes, or assertions of independence, or a little of both, each of the kids now exhibits unique food preferences. Grace refuses to eat anything green except pesto, Hayden is practically vegetarian, and Brady avoids carbs almost to the point of paleo.
But all three adore one food in any form—cheese. Cheddar cheese, goat cheese, brie, parmesan, Romano, gorgonzola….They love it all. Sharp Tillamook cheddar is the hands down favorite, and we keep a steady supply of shredded ready for deployment.
One day last week, we sat down for a typical Gagnon family dinner. Hayden quickly tired of his meal—marinated teriyaki chicken breast over brown rice—and left very little of the rice, while the chicken and broccoli sat alone, bored and cold.
“Daddy, can I have some cheese?” Hayden inquired in a sweet and innocent way, as if the novelty of the idea had just struck him and was too brilliant not to inquire.
Grace and Brady, whose broccoli also remained untouched, chimed in:
“Yeah, can I have cheese too?”
“Me too, Dad!”
I explained that dinner was in front of them, and cheese was not part of it. The chirps for cheese got louder as the kids fed off one another’s excitement, desperately hoping I would cave.
Then it came to me. If they would eat a bite of broccoli, they would get some cheese. Like a circus ringmaster, I exclaimed bombastically, “Bite’a trees, get some cheese!” Silence fell over the table as all three eyed me curiously.
“Okay,” Hayden said carefully. Grace and Brady watched intently to see how the volley between us would play out.
“Great,” I said as I rose to grab Tupperware full of Tillamook cheddar from the refrigerator. I placed the open tub of golden shreds in my lap, like a Monopoly banker ready to dole out cash to players. I grabbed a small piece of broccoli from Hayden’s plate and extended it his way.
Barely hesitating, Hayden popped it in his mouth, chomping down emphatically as if to say, “My part’s done, Dad. What do you got now?” I sprinkled a pinch of shredded cheese on his plate.
As Hayden happily enjoyed his reward, Grace exclaimed, “Hey! I want some cheese too!”
“Bite’a trees, get some cheese,” I responded, much more calmly than my first proclamation. Grace grabbed a stem of broccoli from her plate, and then chomp! Brady quickly followed suit.
I glanced over at Allison and communicated as spouses do at the dinner table—with just a look:
“Can you believe this?”
“How in the heck is that working?!”
“Bite’a trees, get some cheese.” I repeated the phrase using different inflections, emphases, and volumes, as a question, as a statement—it didn’t matter. It was now a game, and they were parroting me, happily munching away on broccoli and shredded cheese.
I even raised the stakes and offered them “double cheese” for trying Dad’s sautéed spinach. Ten minutes and about a half pound of cheese later, my kids wiped out the broccoli, tried my spinach, and were happy as clams doing so.
Maybe it was luck, maybe it was silliness, or maybe it was just their time to finally let broccoli back into the circle. Whatever it was, it was beautiful.
That’s the crazy thing about parenting—you rarely know what will work or why. But you just keep trying and adapting—and every once in a while, you strike Tillamook gold.
