Edamame

I went to a Japanese restaurant for lunch. A woman walked in with two small children, her husband following.  She was not particularly beautiful, but she looked stunning in a black crushed velvet dress, a pendant around her neck and a cunningly wrought metal bracelet on her wrist. Since this was a casual lunch with her family she had dressed down by wearing black tights and gray boots. The husband wore a T shirt, jeans and a baseball cap.  The children were neatly but casually dressed. They all sat down at the table next to me. It turned out she was French, naturellement.   She spoke French to the children and fed them little tidbits. Her husband was American, of course. He looked on.

I am fascinated with the French.  I have a totally erroneous but highly romantic idea of their way of life.  This elegantly dressed woman fit the bill.  I watched in fascination to see what she would feed her children.  First the edamame arrived. She arranged the pods on a small plate between them.  The little girl opened each pod carefully, examined the bean, and then placed it daintily in her mouth. The little boy hammered his fist on the table, scattering the pods until a few rolled near him;  then he stuffed a bunch in his mouth.

The mother took his eating style in her stride.  More plates of food arrived: salmon teriyaki for the children and sushi for the adults.  She chose two oblong plates and heaped a mound of rice on each one.  Then she cut up the salmon into bite-sized pieces and divided it evenly on each plate.  The kids went to work with gusto on their food.

My faith in her Frenchness was realized.  She not only looked perfect, she fed perfect food to her children in an aesthetically pleasing way. Their meals were healthy but elegant.  No pizza or burgers with fries for them (though I hear Le McDonald's is very popular in France) -- nor America's version of a healthy meal for children: carrots and celery sticks, a peanut butter sandwich and an apple. Ugh!  How uninspired.