As part of my ongoing quest to get small boy to eat anything new (anything at all some days) I decided, in my innate wisdom, to cook a tagine this week. Bear with me here, there was some rationale. He likes dried apricots. So perhaps if I bunged them in with some chicken and spices he might be coerced into eating the chicken?? I was feeling desperate, OK.
So off I set, chopping and frying and simmering for over an hour. Meanwhile, the kids did some colouring and painting at the kitchen table. So far, so good. I had high hopes for this dinner. This was going to be The One Where He Ate The Chicken. The kitchen smelt amazing and I finally dished it up with some couscous and stood back, awaiting the praise and demands for second helpings.
Epic failure. Even my dustbin daughter who will have a go at most things said “how many spoonfuls do I have to eat?” Small boy took a spoonful, proclaimed “yuck!” And literally scooped it back out of his mouth and threw it back into his bowl in disgust.
He then, and this is the bit that pains me most, turned and chugged back the water they had been using to paint with. HE DRANK PAINT WATER.
BROWN MURKY PAINT WATER.
HE DIDNT EVEN FLINCH.
This boy will drink painty water but will not eat blueberries, or apples, or most vegetables. And certainly not chicken and apricot tagine.
Needless to say, I will not bother with a photo or recipe on this occasion *carries on drinking wine.