To save me writing about baby food again here is the recipe I followed last night to use up the other half of her squash: pumpkin risotto
A is for avocado
B is for banana
C is for carrot
D is for….
all I can think of is donuts, and as much as I love them I don’t think they should be my baby’s fourth food! So I will have to abandon my (quite unintentional but strangely satisfying) alphabetical menu and jump straight to S for squash.
My question today about baby led weaning :
How long do you boil a carrot so that it is still firm enough for your baby to grasp in her fist and bring to her mouth, but soft enough that she will be able to chew it with her toothless gums and swallow without choking?
I search on Google for a much reduced version of the above and get many possible answers, but the definitive one comes in the end from my baby herself. I put the carrot sticks on to boil when she has her first mid morning yawn, intending to leave them for about 15 minutes but it isn’t until almost half an hour later when she finally surrenders to sleep that I can get back to the kitchen and take them off the heat.
Fortunately I discover at lunch time that they are just right, tiny orange batons to be passed from hand to mouth. She must have somehow known and kept me busy just long enough to let them cook perfectly.
We are having ice cream weather already, by which I mean that you want to eat ice cream all the time and that you feel like ice cream all the time, about to melt.
The other day I looked back at a notebook from last year and found the following thoughts on ice cream- here they are:
My first ice cream in Lebanon was made of snow, eaten at the side of a frozen dam, while we took a well-earned break from snow-shoeing. Our guide dug deep into the drifts and handed out plastic cup after plastic cup of snow gelato drizzled with carob syrup and sprinkled with dried fruits and nuts.
Months later in July I have another memorable ice cream on the way home from a weekend in Tyre. The little shop at the side of the highway has a spectacular selection of flavours in every colour under the summer sun. The man behind the counter uses his gloved hands to mould the ice cream onto the cones making extraordinary neon sculptures. I chose strawberry, blackberry, mango. He can’t believe I only want three flavours and gives me extra strawberry to make up for it.
At home, I feel like I’m melting. I resort to opening the freezer and standing in front of it for a few minutes, even leaning my head inside and taking deep cold breaths. I’m convinced that one day my husband will come back from work and find me in pool on the floor, pink and white, vanilla and strawberry, like the the ice cream in the freezer.