Benjamin recently suggested that I should get one of those Peter Tempic mattresses. That was a couple weeks ago, and it still cracks me up.
That boy rocks, it must be said. He's funny (intentionally—not just with malapropisms), he's sweet, he always praises my (all too rare) cooking. And he's a pretty damned good eater for a 7-year-old. We went out for dinner tonight, to an Indian restaurant. (Free street parking right in front! What are the odds, right?) He loved dipping his paneer pakora (batter-fried cheese) in both the tomatoey sauce from my alu matar (potatoes and peas in a tomato-onion sauce) and some mango chutney. He had some chicken pakora too, which looked to have tandoori seasoning inside the batter coating. Maybe it was too ordinary for him—he didn't eat that much of it. And for dessert, we all shared gulab jamun, those doughnutty balls in a sweet syrup. Neither Ben nor I liked the dessert, but hey, we both tried it.
I was too afraid to try Indian food until I was nearly 30. The kid, he is a good eater, adventurous and open to trying new things. Mr. Tangerine waited out Ben's infancy with great trepidation, wondering if my picky-eater genes would win out. Nope, it appears not. Ben seems to have inherited his dad's fondness for flavor, variety, and food explorations.