Turkey alone, as I mentioned, was a hit. It even smelled like turkey and was complemented well with some sweet potato puree. But he wouldn't take it well with his grandma. I told her to sing and sing she did. Made-up melodies trailed off as she ushered in broadway classics, like West Side Story. I didn't mind until she sang to him about the Jets; the whole "first cigarette to your last dyin' day" bit isn't exactly G-rated. Anyway, the songs didn't inspire an "open wide," but it did drown out some of the protest at the other end of the spoon.
Chicken, so I'm told, is gritty. It sort of smelled like chicken, or I can see the likeness. His face was priceless--simple snacking to immediate disgust as soon as his toothless gums began to mash it around. Luckily he chose to swallow that entree instead of rejecting it toward his mama.
Beef--oh beef. You smell like cat food and I don't blame my son for not liking you. Green beans are enough to choke down, but dash it all I had to go and mix those two blasted ingredients and make a concoction so horrid it spewed in volcano-like fashion from a red hot mad little face into the air. It was a peach co-vert op that saved the day.
Onto the next meat frontier: egg yolk. May you provide a better experience than your predecessors.~*
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