Sweet and Sour

As a single Mom with two kids, going out to eat (only once in a bit because I cannot afford it most days) seems like a welcome relief from just a few of the days' chores. The tease is; I won't have to wash dishes or wipe the table OR sweep the floor. I won't have to load the dishwasher or put away any leftovers. Ugh! just the thought of it makes me want to run screaming. I love the cooking. I absolutely HATE the clean up part.

But because I love the cooking part, I also love the 'surprise' aspect of trying new restaurants. Those I had heard of by a friend or those that I had read about in the latest local "Best Places In . . ." column. Who doesn't love to try new foods? What cook worth her salt doesn't admire and respect another cook's interpretation? It's fun! However, not everyone believes that unknown can ever be equated with 'fun.'

My son intensely dislikes 'unknown' Food is one area where he is least likely to be adventurous.
Feeding Jackson as an infant was easy. He ate pretty much the same thing almost every day. All babies begin this way. As new parents I was instructed to introduce foods into their immature constitutions gradually never veering too far from the bland and familiar. But Jackson seemed to accept quite a few foods - well . . . until around the age of three. At that point, with a younger brother who was just beginning his introduction to solid foods, Jackson found renewed comfort in those foods that he knew. My foods. My cooking - EXACTLY the way I made it. No funny stuff, no variations, no creative ideas, please.

When Jackson was younger, going out to eat was not an option because unless you have been to a restaurant before and you know without any doubt that items are available that will not cause stress, meal time just isn't the stress-free experience that it really needs to be as a parent.
As an adult, meal time is the one place where you want just 20 to 30 minutes to relax, enjoy your children and admire your work and your day. For Jackson, meal time could be nothing short of a culinary mine field.
To this day, both my children have peculiar tastes. Neither really enjoys uncertain gastronamy. They like what they know - which means, what I cook.

They don't like Pop-Tarts. "They're crap!" They would prefer a steaming (and home made) plate of French Toast.
They have never finished even the smallest glass of chocolate milk. (Why ruin it?)
They don't consider Jell-O edible. (It's like plastic, isn't it?)
They have never had Lasagna. (Too many textures all in one mouthful - boycott!)
And their reaction the first time I made them a casserole . . . eye rolling and "When did you come up with this bright idea?!"

As a toddler, Jackson didn't even like fast food. At McDonald's he would tear the ends off the french fries because the texture on the ends was different from that in the middle and it made his mouth feel funny. At some restaurants, chefs had the audacity to put garnishes of food items that could irreparably tarnish meals and make certain that there was no way in hell he was eating what was presented. And what is the point of writing out an entree description for the menu if it is not meant to be followed?!?! (I cannot tell you how many times I tried picking out parsley.) Why are there still surprises?
Just because Jackson liked broccoli, cheese, rice and chicken did NOT mean that he liked or yet likes Broccoli/chicken/cheese casserole. He still won't touch it, regardless that he enjoys all the ingredients separately and if they are cooked the way his Mother makes them. Broccoli on his dinner plate at home is not the same as the broccoli that the Italian restaurant prepares. They put 'stuff' on it. To you and I 'stuff' is seasoning. To Jackson 'stuff' is a contaminant.

This weekend we learned for the five hundredth time that the Sweet and Sour Chicken from First Chinese BBQ is not the same as the Sweet and Sour Chicken prepared at Jade Palace. Jade Palace is the one he likes.
We went out to dinner last weekend. Jackson likes Chinese food so we chose a place in the town we were visiting. Jackson ordered Sweet and Sour Chicken. This dish is typically his favorite and only choice at the Jade Palace. The chefs make it for him the same way every single time he orders it. The preparation never varies. He can count on it. Figuring it would be a safe bet, he ordered it again, using the same words and descriptors when placing his order.

Before his plate even arrived at the table - in fact, as it left the kitchen and I watched it's inevitable arrival at his side - I knew there was no way he was ever going to eat it just as surely as I knew that asking him to be flexible, sit quietly and eat it would get me no where. What does pineapple and or corn have to do with chicken anyway?

There was no way he was going to eat that dish - ever.

The waiter hadn't listened. He wasn't familiar with my son. The sauce was not on the side. The vegetables were mised in - touching the chicken. The menu description in Chinese characters didn't reveal that it would be made with dark meat - at least not to someone who doesn't read Mandarin. Jackson "doesn't prefer" dark meat.

He is not going to eat it in a box.
He is not going to eat it with a fox.
He is not going to eat it in a ship.
He is not going to eat it on a trip.
He is not going to eat it - anyplace.
He is Jackson.
He is.

Except in Jackson's story, he did try it. As he held back his gag at the tenuous texture of the dark meat and the sweet, sticky sauce - he tried so hard to behave politely, to sit at the dinner table with other and consume a food item that he really, really just did not like in any way, shape or form.

As I sat there watching my son struggle with an entree that he didn't care for I had to wonder; would most non-Aspergians try so hard to be polite? Would they try to consume something they didn't care for or would they send it back, order a different dish or stop at a fast food place on the way home after pushing their food around on their plate for 30 minutes?

What would they do?

Why did Jackson (and the rest of the family for that matter) assume that the problem with the food was laid solely and singularly at his feet and not with the dish? Who is to say what accounts for individual taste? And why is does he consider it bad it he doesn't care for something? I don't particularly care for oysters. That doesn't mean that chefs prepare them poorly - but that also doesn't mean they didn't.
I like sandwiches and I hate the way my Mother makes them. That's okay!!

I did not make Jackson eat his dinner that evening. How could I? Why would anyone want to eat something that tasted 'ugly.'?

He tried so hard. He was so polite. He took a few bites grimacing all the while beforehand; Like someone who is about to eat rotten fish heads, or boneless duck feet (yes ,that was on the menu) but knowing he should at minimum try one bite before he is allowed to abstain - he did.
He held is breath, held his gag in and swallowed. The politely said, "I don't care for this dish the way they make it here." He had rice for dinner that night.

And I did not order the boneless duck feet. I ordered pork with eggplant. The dish was salty and mushy. I did not care for it, but I ate it  - some of it. Just enough so that I wasn't hungry.

My son knows his limits and  I have accepted them as hard limits. I have been raised to ignore mine. My 'limit's have always been 'preferences' as opposed to limits. The waste or monitary loss was always the hard limit - not my preference. An inanimate cost was far more important than I ever could dream of becoming. Who's the honest, healthy one in this picture?