When I was a little thing and hadn’t yet learned to make my own dinner, my mother had the impossible task of whipping something up that my picky palate would actually accept as edible.
Most of the time I just sucked it up and ate what was in front of me so that I would be allowed to have ice cream for dessert. Of the few dishes that I would eat without complaint, pasta and hot dogs were my all time favorites. It’s a good thing I didn’t cook for myself or else that would be all I ate.
So when my mom wanted to easily sneak some vegetables into me, she’d usually make soup (if a kid can’t see what they’re eating, they can’t complain, right?). And it worked – I vividly remember gobbling down bowlfuls of butternut squash or carrot soup with black pepper and globs of sour cream. Continue reading