Sushi à la Française

I found myself up at 2 in the morning so I sat down at my computer. That's when my Internet searches become increasingly bizarre. The first thing you know, I had stumbled on a site about the French way of eating. It was written by an American mom and nutritionist who had lived in France with her children. (Sorry, I can't link to her site because I don't remember what it was.) She compared French school menus with American ones for 123 days.  I actually read each menu very carefully, in my bleary-eyed insomniac way. Of course, the French menus turned out to be superior to ours in nutritional value and variety of foods. She explained that in French schools, children are seated at table where the food is served to them in courses instead of our American free-for-all. They have two hours for lunch, but only one choice of entree unless there are special dietary concerns. They are not permitted to bring their lunch, but they are allowed to go home, eat, and come back. The main meal in France is served mid-day, with a lighter one eaten later in the evening. The French eat slower, take smaller portions, and spend more time at the table than we do. They do not snack or eat on the go.

How right she was! For lunch, I went back to my favorite Japanese restaurant and there she was -- the French woman whom I had admired in an earlier post. This time she was sans husband, but with her two children, a little girl and boy. They sat one table down from me. Since the restaurant was relatively empty, I could observe them at leisure, which I did. I hope I didn't freak them out, but they seemed not to notice me, absorbed as they were in the ritual of their meal.

It was amazing to watch. The first course was miso soup. They sipped slowly until it was all gone. Then the edamame arrived, which the kids gobbled up. After that came an order of sushi rolls and a plate of chicken teryaki with a bowl of rice. The woman carefully arranged the children's portions: a single piece of sushi, a mound of rice and a small amount of teryaki. They ate enthusiastically, occasionally making "Mmmm" noises of appreciation. Then the tea arrived (silence while they carefully sipped) followed by a large salad of pickled cucumber. That was her entree, but the children freely sampled.  Lastly, le dessert: a saucer of mochi, petite balls of mango, ginger, and green tea ice cream.

The children did not run around screaming. The mother did not talk on her cell phone. She let them play with their food. The little boy fed her several times, which I thought was sweet. (I usually witness the feeding ritual to be the other way round.) When the little girl laid down on the bench and squirmed, she was gently admonished. She sat up again, but danced happily in her seat along with her mother, who also bobbed to the music. What struck me was the careful attention the mother gave to her children and to the food. It wasn't the coddling I see in American parents, nor the alternate pattern of yelling interspersed with neglect. They weren't indulged, but they were nurtured. She was entirely relaxed and present. It relaxed me just to watch her.