On Saturday, I took my mum out to lunch (hi mum — you’re one of the 2.3 people who read this website). We were out shopping, so I took her to Hans Cafe. For those that don’t know Hans, it’s the Starbucks of asian cuisine. There’s a Hans on every corner, the food isn’t always that great, but then you don’t have to deal with elbowing your way to a table in the food courts or sitting in a rowdy pub that smells of stale alcohol and urine. Also, Hans don’t mind if you bring a hyperactive two year old with you. By complete coincidence, I happen to have a hyperactive two year old.
Romilly loves Hans. If they gave away toys and had a playground, I don’t think she’d want to eat out anywhere else. She’s always enjoyed eating different styles of food, and has been raised to enjoy a wide variety of food. She’s not quite up to sharing a really hot vindaloo, and she has a bit of trouble if I forget to chop up her spaghetti, but otherwise she eats just about anything I would normally cook. Sure, she usually demands fish fingers at least once a week and she gets upset if there’s no cauliflower in with her vegetables, but she’ll eat just about anything (including weird things dug out from underneath the couch). Hans, however, appears to be extra “groovy” at the moment.
As usual, I didn’t order Romilly a meal of her own. I made that mistake once, and quickly realised that adult portion sizes and children don’t work well together. She seems to enjoy it more if she gets to eat someone else’s food, anyway. I suppose it’s the toddler equivalent of someone else picking up the bill.
Our meal arrived, and I dished Romilly a serving on her plate. It was about then that I realised that while we had been given a little chair and a little plate, Romilly was weilding a full sized soup spoon. I watched in awe as she deftly scooped up her food and moved the spoon towards her face. As the spoon approached, she voraciously attacked it — shark style — mouth wide open and eyes tight shut. It was a fearsome sight, repeated for each spoonful with increasing vigor and ferocity. Beef, vegetables, bamboo shoots, rice: all consumed by this strange toddler-shark that shared our table.
Note to child welfare services (hi guys — you’re one of the 2.3 people who read this website):
Despite her eating weird things dug out from underneath the couch and consuming food with a shark-like technique, my daughter does get fed on a regular basis. She might not tell you this when you ask her, but then she’s quite happy to tell you all about how she makes snowmen out of sand at the beach in my lounge room. That’s got to count for something.
I think she ate over half my meal, but I wasn’t going to try to stop her, lest I lose a finger or two. Once finished, she was sated until late afternoon (when the opportunity to attack a defenceless iced cupcake was too much to resist).