Day 157: The terrible twos are here, four months too soon

June 6, 2007


Baby A entered a new phase of expressing her emotions today; she debuted her own special brand of über-tantrum, and liked it so much she bought the company. This morning when we were trying to get her ready she had a complete and utter meltdown about her trousers, and presumably how offensive they were. She was so upset she could barely breathe, and it had lovely knock on effect to include hating her t-shirt, and not wanting to wear any shoes. Apparently she had a fantastic day at daycare, where she was an utterly charming delight. Then we brought her home. During bath time she took enormous offense to the fact that she wasn’t allowed to drink half the bath water, and so she switched places with the toddler whose head may explode at any given second. The absolute harrumph continued until we put her to bed, where she stayed up happily chatting and singing and being delightful with all her stuffed animals. She’s had tantrums before, obviously; she’s 20 months old after all. But this was a whole new class of anger. It was so ridiculously horrifying it was actually funny. It reminded me of how angry she looked just after she was born; this furious writhing ball of enraged red baby. And so now we know how it is to be the parents of that child.

Anyway, after all the drama, L had the dubious pleasure of making Warm Tangerine and Grilled Chicken Salad served on Grilled Garlic Crisps singlehandedly, as my mum called just as we were about to start cooking. Obviously I can cook and talk at the same time, theoretically at least, but who am I to ignore such fortuitous timing? L made a marinade for the chicken out of tangerine juice, garlic, olive oil, salt and pepper, rosemary and parsley. He then made the salad out of grape tomatoes (we couldn’t find a mix of red and yellow, so we were all red, all the way), fennel, green olives, kalamata olives and scallions. The dressing was made of olive oil, tangerine juice and zest and salt. Meanwhile he cooked the chicken on the grill pan, and prepared the pita bread with olive oil and garlic. Once one side browned in a hot grill pan, the pita bread was turned and parmesan cheese was sprinkled on the top.

The chicken salad was supposed to be served on top of the crispy pita bread, which seemed a little ridiculous. After all that effort to make the pita crispy, piling a sloppy salad on top made it soggier than its original state. Still we did it, and the pita was soggy. I’d imagined from the title that the pita was to be cut into smaller pieces to become Grilled Garlic Crisps, but presumably I was thinking of the European version of the crisp, as in an American chip. It was more of a pita slab. It was tasty but it was ruined by the liquid content of the salad. The salad itself featured fennel, which was a little unfortunate as it tends to dominate everything, but really this was a tomato and olive salad. The tangerine-ness was overwhelmed by everything else. In my imaginary world, I’d assumed that there would be segments of citrus in the salad to bring out the juice in the marinade and the salad dressing. Nope, not to be.

Overall, this meal was fine, nothing too exciting. The meal was reasonable, although it seemed a little labour-intensive for the end result. The pita crisp was unnecessary, considering how it fared under the salad. It would have been easier to serve crusty bread with the salad, without losing too much flavour-wise. Tomorrow we have an extremely alcohol-centric meal; Shrimp Martinis and Manhattan Steaks. Whilst I am not against the odd glass of wine or beer when gestating, a glass of vodka seems a little on the excessive side. We don’t have martini glasses or the right types of booze; we’ll have to buy some wee bottles and serve it in a wine glass. As we are so classy I’ll make sure that I go and buy the alcohol. You can’t beat the sight of a pregnant woman buying vodka, rye whiskey and vermouth. Still we may need all that liquid refreshment as we have an appointment with a man about a (monstrous) mortgage in the morning. Fun times.

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