Sunday, 22 June 2014

The world's fussiest 4 year old vs foreign food

What happens when you take a very fussy eater on holiday? Aside from a stress related migraine, of course.

Well, as we've just got back from a fortnight in Fuertaventura, I've got a fair idea. Our holiday was on a half board basis, in the hope that there would be sufficient buffet food that Squeaky would eat at tea time, and because I love the entertainment value of the coffee, juice and toast machines in the morning. Honestly, it's like watching a Krypton Factor challenge some days.

Breakfast was the easy part. Nowhere can go far wrong with toast and jam. And lunches were a fairly relaxed affair of cheese sandwiches, crisps, yogurt and ice cream.  Dinner time is where the fun begins.

We've never been to Fuertaventura before, though we have been to Tenerife. I was surprised how much more Spanish it was than my previous Canaries experience, in terms of the people, the atmosphere, and especially the food.  Our hotel's buffet served up some glorious paella, fiduea, Canary potatoes, fish in mojo sauce, all of which made me very happy indeed.  However, for Squeaky, the children's section held such wonders as burgers (yucky), potato wedges (yucky), chicken nuggets (yucky unless renamed Space Shapes), pasta (only acceptable if white, not tricolour), and chips.

She basically spent the fortnight eating plain pasta, plain rice, chips and ice cream, helped along by a couple of hot dogs out and about.  I'm so frustrated, I'd love to be able to take her to other places, but I'm worried she'll eat even less. What would happen when faced with a plate of Greek salad and moussaka I dread to think.

The biggest success we had was convincing her that spaghetti was in fact pasta, and good fun. Otherwise that day she wouldn't have eaten anything. No dinner, no ice cream.  We've got serious work to do, so wish me luck. For now we're concentrating on school dinner foods ahead of September, but I really need some proper variety so that next year's holiday is a relaxing one, rather than a battle of wits at the dining table.


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