Amuse bouche... Kids’ holiday cuisine
On the first night of the holiday, Lucy ate an olive. Not to be outdone, her older brother Benjamin ate two, although he gagged on the second and Sinead let him spit it into a napkin.
“Well done,” said Ciaran, father of the pair of under-fives. “You deserve a reward. Gelato?”
The kids were thrilled. Sinead wasn’t.
“I was going to give them a reward sticker each,” she said. “I packed gold stars.”
“I’d say they’d prefer an ice cream,” Conor replied. “They’ve earned it. Olives are disgusting.”
“Olives are ’gusting,” Lucy parroted, and her brother laughed. So she said it again. Five times. That was the end of the olives.
Over the course of the week, the two kids ate nibbles of Italian oddities on offer. Benjamin liked the hams and the rice balls, and Lucy even liked the clams, until she bit one in half to see what was inside.
As the week went on, in fact, the kids leant towards white as the key characteristic of their food. They wanted bread. With chips. And plain white pasta.
By night five, even Sinead was losing the spirit of adventure. To be fair to the kids, she was ordering the same pizza that she ordered in Ireland, so why wouldn’t she let them have a plain old margherita? And after Benjamin told the waiter that mummy’s favourite Italian food was wine, she was hardly going to start a fight over anchovies.
On the very last night, as a treat for the adults, they ate at the chic restaurant in the central piazza.
“I’d eat everything on the menu,” Ciaran said.
“And they’ll eat nothing,” said Sinead.
“Don’t worry,” said the waiter, swooping over. “We have a special pasta for the bambini.”
They ordered two, and a knot formed in Sinead’s stomach as she anticipated the delicacy devoured by the local kids.
Two plates of mini-penne in a pale-red sauce arrived. Not a bit of veg or an olive in sight.
“’Ghetti hoops!” Lucy exclaimed, after a spoonful.
“Yeah, just like spaghetti hoops,” Benjamin agreed. “I love Italian food.”
“Indeed,” thought Sinead. “Give that child an ice cream.”