Cecilia learns how to break down duck off the spit at the seventh edition of Lambstock. (Photo by Jason Tesauro)
"I want the neck,” said Cecilia, eyeing the whole roast lamb just off the spit. But I wasn’t a proud papa that day due to some Andrew Zimmern–inspired bizarre food moment. Rather, it was gratifying because it meant that my 9-year-old was paying attention. This was our third time attending Lambstock, an annual gathering at Border Springs Farm in Patrick Springs for chefs and food industry people paying homage to summer camp camaraderie, generosity, locavorism and sheep. Previously, Cecilia watched as cooks butchered, prepped and served. This time, it was her hands in the dough, on the carcasses and at the chow line dishing out vittles to hundreds of attendees. At the far end of the table, the ribs and belly were quickly picked clean, but Cecilia circled like carrion and went for the lamb’s tender “shepherd’s cut” that still lay untaken.
They may not learn from me how to change the oil or make a one-match fire, but dear old Dad is instilling another vital knowledge base: food. Eating and drinking are foundational elements of my career as a sommelier and lifestyle writer and pillars of leisure in my marriage. Getting the kids on board was important and intentional. Frankly, food-fussy kids would be incompatible with our life. Over time, as my peers were reduced to a steady diet of chicken tenders and mac-n-cheese, our four-fold approach set a rich table: Get them hungry, get them to the source, get them out of town, get them cooking.
Get them hungry
The two most important words in foodie-kid training are simple: limit snacking. By the time our dinner bell rings, the gang is hustling to set the table and eager to dig in. Combine that with a strict Anti-Whining Policy — our mantra is “you git what you git and don’t throw a fit” — and you understand why we see a lot of clean plates. Children that are allowed to nitpick the menu or come to a meal only half-hungry are likely to develop an acute habit of finickiness that’s hard to break.
Get them to the source
Markets, farm tours and food festivals represent the show-and-tell segment of food training that introduces kids to localism, seasonality and terroir. If you want children to eat vegetables, visit a farmer or plant a garden and involve the kids in the harvest. Even if the “source” is your neighborhood grocer’s produce section, you can still share the excitement of tomato season and teach your brood how to eye fresh greens and sniff out ripe melons. As for events like Lambstock, annual affairs encourage a slow but deep dive over time and have the added benefit of social currency. Watch what happens around year two and beyond when your kids encounter first-timers and show them the ropes with pride.
Get them out of town
It’s a crucial leitmotif of effective parenting: travel. Introduce your kids to what hungry people in other places eat. Besides expanding their vocabulary of culture and taste, traveling helps to calibrate a young person’s sense of gratitude. Away from home, kids rarely fail to notice how happy others can be, even when someone has far less to be thankful for. Plane tickets and passports are as valuable as private school (and can be nearly as costly), but that’s not the only path. Head to nearby food-sheds and discover the delicacies of neighboring counties and states, be it shellfish along the Chesapeake Bay, home cookin’ in Appalachia or Carolina barbecue. And if you can’t get abroad, let it come to you. Our city’s many festivals — Greek, Armenian, Jewish, Irish — are portals to other cuisines, no need for a suitcase.
Get them cooking
Isabella, our eldest, is the closest we have to a picky eater. She doesn’t eat fish or mushrooms or anything on the bone, but she makes up for it by cooking. She’s our best guacamole maker and cookie baker. Cecilia is our go-to sous chef on a nightly basis, and the best way to keep little Julian occupied during dinner prep is to hand him a dull knife and a cucumber. As for the older boys, Brooks whips up lunchtime quesadillas every weekend and Sebastion is learning to fend for himself now that he’s well into year two of self-imposed gluten-freeness.
If I’ve done anything wrong, it’s perhaps my Mild Salsa Backfire. What started as my desire to acclimate them to “a little kick” has morphed into a full-on hot-sauce fancy that makes my boys want to douse just about anything in Frank’s or Cholula. I’m willing to live with it, though, because it also means that we can go out for Indian, Ethiopian or Sichuan without worry. In the end, food is communion and geography, love and heritage. A one-match fire is good, too, but whereas some other kids will know how to fire up the coals, it’ll be my crew roasting the lamb ... and reaching for the neck.
Buckle up. Jason Tesauro, writer, speaker, sommelier — and modern papa to a five-some under 15 — invites you to ride shotgun as he hurls through life at the speed of love/chaos/adventure.
