In certain circles (*cough, cough* Portlandia), kale is shorthand for all things healthy. Want to make a smoothie? Kale’s in, spinach is out. Whipping up a frittata? Make sure those eggs come from organic-free-range-vegetarian-fed-deliriously-happy hens, and throw in some kale, too, obvi. Making a salad? Forget the romaine; you need to massage some kale instead.
But if your kid is anything like my picky preschooler, kale is not on the menu.
How my kid started to eat kale
Let me set the scene. On a recent weekend, storm clouds gathered overhead. We nixed the family hike plans and opted to stay inside. It was a smart decision: Before long, it began to pour.
Then I heard a tap-tap-tap on the roof. Peeper looked up from her painting, confused. She dashed to the window and saw tiny balls of ice falling from the sky.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“It’s hail, honey.”
She wanted to investigate, of course. I bundled her in a coat, pulled on her Bogs and sent her out on the deck.
She spent the next 20 minutes sliding over the hail-covered porch. She made a tiny snowman. She picked up enough hail to freeze her fingers to a blotchy pink.
Then she knocked on the window.
“Look, Mama, I’m eating kale!”
I’m always trying to get Peeper to try new foods. It rarely works—enchiladas and edamame stew sit untouched on her plate—but this: I’ll count this as a win.
Because according to her, it’s kale.