French Kids Eat Everything Karen Billon (romance novel chinese novels txt) 📖

wouldn’t hurt, and it would give us a sense of what the kids are eating. And what we’re eating.”

This time, I relented. “Okay, but only for one week,” I argued, “and only after the Easter candy is finished.”

“Okay,” he insisted, “but we have to include everything we eat, and how much the girls are eating of each thing.”

Smugly, I agreed, thinking of all of the wonderful things I was now preparing for the girls. As a result of our variety blitz, dishes that had been rejected before—spinach, peppers, leeks, tomatoes, lettuce, and all kinds of fish—were now on the menu every week. The diary will prove him wrong, I thought.

But I was the one who was proved wrong. Philippe was right: the food diary really showed what the girls were (and weren’t eating). The quality of their snacks wasn’t great: they were mostly eating white bread and sweets (like jam, honey, chocolate, cookies). And they were filling up on snacks—an after-school snack, a bedtime snack, and (on weekends) a midmorning snack. By volume (at least according to my guesstimates, because I refused to weigh the food as Philippe had originally suggested), the girls were eating more at snacktime than they were at dinner. I realized that this might be the reason that they were only picking at most of the vegetable dishes I so carefully prepared and offered at dinnertime. This “sampling” style of eating, a behavior that I’d encouraged in order to get them to try more variety, was at its worst when they had a snack within one hour of dinnertime.

The family food diary exercise made me realize that serving a variety of foods wasn’t enough. It wasn’t just about what we offered the kids. We also had to think about when and how we offered food to the kids. From this perspective, the French schedule started to seem more and more reasonable. If they didn’t have a midmorning snack, they’d be hungry at lunchtime. If they had only one afternoon snack, they’d be hungrier at dinner. And—although this was going to be the hardest of all—if we didn’t let them have a bedtime snack, they’d be more inclined to actually eat a proper dinner. All too often, the kids picked at their plates at dinnertime, but ate cereal or bread and butter with great relish as their bedtime snack. Philippe was right: snacking was allowing our kids to fill up on poor-quality food. Maybe, I admitted, he was also right about their behavior. Maybe our kids would be just as well behaved (or better) if they weren’t allowed to snack randomly.

I mentioned the food diary to our friend Céline, who had spent years living in Vancouver. Apart from Philippe, she was one of the French people I knew who really understood North American culture. Now that she was back in France, I wondered what she would have to say about snacking.

“When I first arrived in Vancouver, it seemed so rude!” she exclaimed, when I got her on the phone. “First of all, someone is eating alone, in front of you, and not sharing. And they’re often standing up or walking around. The French feel uncomfortable seeing someone eating if they’re not sitting down. And I couldn’t believe how messy it was!”

It’s true: snacking is messy. Crumbs get scattered, coffee gets spilled, fingers get oily, and clothing gets stained. For the fastidious French, this is disconcerting. Their children are, as a rule, much tidier than North Americans’. Even in our tiny village, the children came to school dressed in outfits that looked more like “Sunday best” than the rough-and-tumble clothing kids wear back home. Their clothes—just like those of the adults—were carefully ironed. (When I first visited Philippe’s family, I was astounded by the fact that his mother ironed all of the family’s clothing, including their jeans, T-shirts, and underwear. And French women of my generation were similar. My total lack of interest in ironing was, in turn, one of the warning signs for Philippe’s family that I was an unsuitable spouse. I eventually, though grudgingly, took to ironing our clothes—although I drew the line at underwear. In turn, my commitment to ironing was seen as a reassuring sign by his family.)

And another thing Céline said intrigued me. “Americans have no self-control!” she kept repeating. This, again, reflects French views: people should show self-restraint when it comes to eating. This means that treats are rare, should be eaten only occasionally, and should be savored. Moreover, it means that food should be eaten only at mealtimes, and only at the table. In breaking all the French food rules, Americans were guilty of demonstrating a lack of self-control. For all of these reasons, the American approach to snacking seems both slightly bizarre and vaguely repellent to the French—particularly the constant sucking and slurping of drinks. I had already realized all of this, of course (and if I hadn’t, there had been enough sideways looks from strangers on the street to make it abundantly clear).

Céline’s comments really hit home. In spite of myself, I started to see the logic of the French approach—snacking might work for kids, but was a bad habit to take into adult life. I took my list of food rules down from the fridge and added our new snacking rule:

French Food Rule #7:

Limit snacks, ideally one per day (two maximum), and not within one hour of meals.

Understanding this rule requires some explanation. Feeding children in France often feels like taking a train in Switzerland: it’s always on schedule. In their daily routine, French children, like their parents, eat at the correctly scheduled time. (For special days and restaurant outings, this rule may be set aside, which is perhaps why some Americans have the impression that the French are so relaxed about eating times.) Just as important, French children do not eat at nonscheduled times. But scheduling meals does not mean (and is not viewed as) deprivation. The French anticipate eating. They have mastered the art