The Surprise Plate

by E. Marmer
posted Jan 24, 2016

found at dherbs.com/#.U39_SvldV5M

There have been a few things about raising my children I have been a genius at, though, to be honest, these were more of the my-god-they-are-such-gullible-newbies variety and not so much of the I-must-get-them-to-understand-this variety. My most genius invention was the surprise plate. Even more so than the secret cameras I convinced them I had set up at their elementary and middle schools (achieving this through minutely detailed and accurate reportage of tiny incidents that happened in school which I had either witnessed unbeknownst to them or had related to me by other parents who were there). The surprise plate was sheer beauty: so simple but so incredibly effective.

Now, I wouldn’t be surprised if millions of other mothers out there have all come upon the surprise plate as well, because mothers are indeed a clever bunch, but it sure felt like my own genius magic, whipping it up one day almost out of thin air, and getting instant results. It happened on a day when the kids were not hungry enough to start whining about the exact meal they would require, down to each ridiculously innutritious item (with extra frosting!), if they were to be expected to mellow out and not escalate to a tantrum, but still were invested enough to inquire with some interest as to what I intended to present as “lunch.” I hesitated in my response, having been thrown by the fact that it was nowhere near close to lunch, and the kids, thinking they were sniffing disaster, instantly became alarmed. Didn’t my hesitation mean I was planning a bad, awful, disgusting lunch? But like a highly tuned instrument of bio-feedback making a thousand tiny adjustments every moment to prevent the otherwise oncoming meltdown, my scrambling brain made a sudden leap. I turned serenely toward them with wide grin, and, sweeping my arm out in a servile and unctuous arc, I told them, “I didn’t want to tell you, but I’m making you surprise plates.”

“What’s on a surprise plate?” they nervously asked. And with the suavity of a practiced TV host, and the beatific smile and manner of a magical fairy, I answered, “Well, it’s a surprise!”

by Samantha Lee, found at http://blogs.disney.com/oh-my-disney/2015/10/14/13-pieces-of-disney-food-art-cute-enough-to-eat/

And they nodded in this information, with a half-understanding, a bit of game curiosity and a good dose of skepticism. I felt that I had averted a storm, at least for the time being. As the time for lunch drew near, I had to figure out what would go on those damn plates. “Okay, there’s the Goldfish, and those grapes I had this morning didn’t have that bad aftertaste from the skin… but what else? What ELSE? And I rifled through the fridge till I found some bologna to roll up and some cooked broccoli left overs, and scouted the pantry till I lighted upon the canned sliced peaches. Sweet, but still marginally nutritious. And to seal the deal, Hostess yodels!

At lunch, I served them with great pomp and circumstance. “Here are your surprise plates!” The fun they had pointing out the various items, their relief in not be served something truly repugnant and, moreover, their delight also in getting not just canned peaches, but a yodel besides, rendered the bologna completely benign. And the broccoli! The broccoli was transformed! It was now merely a mildly confusing disappointment, no longer something to cause eruptions of yowls and hideous, grimacing expressions. “But Mom, there’s broccoli.”

I shrugged with raised upturned hands and philosophically said, “Well, it’s a surprise plate. You never know what you’re gonna get.” This, to my well hidden amazement, led to them affirming with a mix of glee and resignation, “You never know what you’re gonna get!” They ate the broccoli.

The next day, they pleaded in chorus for surprise plates. “Oh no,” I said, “that’s an only once in a while thing,” and I insisted on serving them an “ordinary” lunch of chicken nuggets, banana slices, some green beans and two oreos. After a few times of them asking when they’d get surprise plates again, I finally, and “begrudgingly” said, “Okay, okay! I’ll make surprise plates.” This time it was hardboiled eggs, a one-serving of Mott’s applesauce, some M & M’s, carrot sticks with a little puddle of ranch dressing and cooked zucchini. “Yay, M & M’s! Eww, zucchini!” but they ate it all. That was it! I felt like Dr. Frankenstein must have when he gave life to his monster. “I HAVE DONE IT!”

Those once in a while surprise plates helped me get all kinds of vegetables into my kids’ mouths, and the good-natured-oh-well ingestion of these veggies often led to their eventual acceptance onto both “ordinary” lunch and dinner plates. (Though I wasn’t fool enough try the really challenging ones, like collard greens or kale. Why risk spoiling a good thing?)

I kept up those surprise plates until the day finally came, sadly, when it occurred to one of them to say, “I’m not eating that, Ma.” And just like that, the magic of the surprise plate was gone. Oh well. It was good while it lasted. And thinking about it now, I recall that the idea wasn’t really mine, but actually was my mother’s. She had once told me about the surprise plates she had made for my nieces when they stayed with her, and the notion must have lodged in my brain, waiting for the perfect time to come out. Did she know about the power of the plate to induce the eating of vegetables? She must have. She was a mother, after all.