One kid's adventures in gastronomy

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Bananas for Ice Cream

You know me well enough by now to understand my ice cream obsession.

It should be no surprise, then, that I’ve been helping myself to treats out of the freezer. I bring them to Mama and ask, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Invariably, she says, “No, I’m not. Now put that back.”


So I was thrilled when she offered to make banana ice cream with me, and not the kind that takes all day, what with the heating and the straining and the cooling and the freezing. Sneaky Mama planned it in advance. First, she sliced 2 bananas, then put the plate in the freezer.

sliced bananas/littlejudeonfood.comI didn’t know what was up her sleeve when she did this, so the wait didn’t bother me. Then she put the frozen slices in the food processor and began chopping them up. It was really loud, and I didn’t see how this was going to turn into ice cream.

processed nanners/

She had to scrape down the bowl a few times, but it started getting smoother:

nanners coming together/

Until, eventually, it looked like ice cream:

smooth as ice cream/


It was smooth and creamy—and cold! Though it looks quite yellow in these pictures, it was actually closer to vanilla in color. And best of all, it was so easy (and so good for me) that Mama promised that we can make it all summer long.

ice cream eater/littlejudeonfood.comAnd that makes me about the happiest kid on the block.

Love, Jude


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Redirect your child’s behavior…

…and you can put dinner together pretty quickly. Or so I’m told.

Mama occupied me with a can of chickpeas.

peeling chickpeas/

She showed me how to squeeze their little tails to pop them out of their skins. (I ate as many as I popped.)

squeeze the little tail/

Meanwhile, having been inspired by a recipe, she set to work on a dinner that involved rapini, or broccoli rabe. Not to be confused with broccolini (broccoli’s slender cousin), rapini is more leafy than broccolini. It also shares family lineage with turnips. Who knew?


But I’m getting ahead of myself.

What prompted the can of chickpeas was my reluctance to pull the silk off several ears of corn. Have you seen how much silk gets trapped between the kernels? I was in no mood to pluck more than a few strands, so Mama passed the task to Papa and set me up with chickpeas.

All the while, the grill was preheating. When the corn was clean, Mama slathered olive oil on her palms, then rubbed them all over the corn. These Papa placed directly on the grill grates. He sprinkled kosher salt over them, then closed the lid. Every few minutes, one of them went out to turn the ears. Mama said she wanted “a good char” on them. At one point, she called us out to hear them popping!

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, Mama set some spaghetti to cooking while she prepared the rapini portion in another large pot. The house smelled good with the sizzling garlic and lemon. By the time I was done with the chickpeas (Papa helped near the end), everything was done. The corn was brought to the table, the rapini-lemon-cannellini bean mixture was tossed with the pasta, and we were ready to pig out.

dinner's ready/

Except, I had eaten all those chickpeas. Still, I tried a bean. And a rapini floret—it was bitter! I did eat my corn, though. What’s not to like about corn on the cob? Luckily, none of the kernels popped in my mouth.

corn eater/littlejudeonfood.comAs I declared, “Good dinner, Mama!” It was made so quickly, and we were done with it so early, that I was able to play a long time before I had my bath. No distraction required.

Love, Jude

Char-Grilled Corn on the Cob

Peeled ears of corn
Olive oil
Kosher or sea salt (and ground black pepper, if desired)
Butter and/or grated Parmesan cheese, to serve, if desired

Preheat the grill. (Mama set it to about medium heat, and the temp gauge said it was around 400°F.) Using tongs, smear a paper towel with oil, and rub the grates. Spread about a teaspoon of olive oil between your palms, then run them around the ears of corn. (They don’t need to be heavily coated, but use more oil if necessary.) Sprinkle with salt (and pepper, if desired). Set ears directly on grill grates then close the lid.

Every few minutes, turn the ears. A char is desirable. Grill for about 10 minutes (you’ll start to hear the kernels pop). Remove to a plate and serve as is, or with butter and Parmesan.

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The Knave of Tarts

That’s what I am. Otherwise known as “Mama’s kitchen nemesis.” We haven’t been posting a lot lately because I’ve been such a culinary critic. Needless to say, we’re both frustrated. And while that might make for some entertaining reading on occasion, I think we’re both tired of the gastronomic deadlock. If only she would make more things like Papa’s erupting Vesuvius bagel

Now, what with summer around the corner, and with it all sorts of newly sprouting vegetables, Mama’s tart-making machine is in full swing. We’ve made many tarts before. Whether they’re called pies or tarts (or crumbles or crisps or galettes), my favorite involve fruit. And though I’ve learned that tomatoes are indeed a fruit, they don’t count. Witness, the tomato tart:

tomato tart/

I wanted nothing to do with it. I didn’t even want to eat the asparagus because it was next to it on my plate:

tomato tart with balsamic/

The balsamic reduction didn’t help matters.  And when Mama tried bribing me to try it with a piece of fruit pie (she had extra dough), I told her, “That’s okay. I had dessert last day [yesterday].”

That’s right. I passed on pie. This is getting serious.

Love, Jude



This morning, I showed Papa how to make a smoothie with honey-vanilla Greek yogurt and a few apricot slices that Mama froze last summer specifically for this purpose. (It was delicious.) Then Papa showed me how to make a Vesuvius Bagel.

It’s much like the bird’s nest/toad-in-a-hole we’ve made before, except with a bagel!

I'm giving these eggs from a friend's farm bagel nests.

I’m giving these eggs from a friend’s farm bagel nests.

Papa calls it a Vesuvius bagel because it erupts, something like this volcano did a long, long time ago:

Mt. Vesuvius

First, Papa made the bagel hole a little larger, so there’s enough room for the egg to fit.

You can eat the part of the bagel you pull from the center.

You can eat the part of the bagel you pull from the center.

Then he buttered the top part of the bagel (so that when he flips it in the skillet, it’s all ready to go.) He melted butter in the skillet, set the bagels in it, and cracked the eggs. I was upset that I wasn’t allowed to do it, because I’m very good at cracking eggs without breaking the yolks (as you know), but Papa explained that the skillet is hot, and that it wasn’t a safe thing for me to do. (Thanks for looking out for me, Papa.)

The eggs fit perfectly in those bagel holes.

The eggs fit perfectly in those bagel holes.

The Vesuvius part is coming up!

The Vesuvius part is coming up!

Once he flipped over the bagels, he fried them just until set. (He cooked Mama’s longer because she likes her yolks “stepped on.” Silly Mama. She shouldn’t step on her food!)

And now comes the best part:

I had to hunt around a little bit to find where the yolk was.

I had to hunt around a little bit to find where the yolk was.

If you poke it just right, the egg will run all over the place, just like lava.

If you poke it just right, the yolk will run all over the place, just like lava.

I like the runny yolks.

“I want to use a big plate because I’m a big boy.”

Once I let all the lava flow from the bagel, Papa cut it up for me so that I could smear the bagel through the yolk. The bagel was toasty and buttery, and I love the creaminess of a farm-fresh egg. I wish all meals could be like this.

Love, Jude

I was really little when I visited Pompeii.

I was really little when I visited Pompeii.