My son went to visit a new school, to help him decide “where to go to school next year.”

He knew some of the kids at the school, and met others that he really enjoyed. Not too long after his visit, I was having coffee with my new, favorite friend who also happens to be a mom of one of the boys in this particular 5th grade class.

I had to share with her. I mean, how often do you get the fun, social scoop on your own child? I had asked my son what he thought of her son. We were having lunch and he peered at me over his fork and said, “yes, I remember him, he is very sanguine.” And, perhaps noting the demise of my education on such highly appointed verbiage he paused to share the definition: “happily confident.”

I smiled, to pretend I understood and mask my amusement at his use of vocabulary. As if it were normal. As if his mom even knows how to pronounce, let alone define the aforementioned word. Sanguine. It does roll of your tongue, though, doesn’t it?

So I shared with my friend that she had a very sanguine son. And then, adult to adult, I shared the definition. We had a good chuckle and drank our coffee, like grown-ups should.

You would think ‘nice’ or ‘friendly’ or even ‘outgoing’ would have come to mind. Sort of like when you make a PBJ; you would describe it as simple, basic, or standard.

But that is not always the case. In fact, PBJs can be so much more. It is the quintessential sandwich to initiate good ideas; the ubiquitous combination that is the foundation for unveiled ingenuity… (Touché—mom knows big words too!)

I emailed some friends to ask how they reinvented the PBJ; here are some of the responses to my PBJ query, to bring these slices of bread and condiments beyond ‘classic,’ ‘nice’ or ‘usual.’ Here are personality-filled sandwiches that might even be considered sanguine:

Click here to read the rest of the article, and get a bagful of new ideas…

And I really, really, really wanted to like it: this bow-worthy company takes healthy, environmentally conscious food to a top-notch level. My impression is that they are aiming to be benchmark quality fare, food that sets THE BAR that much higher. Pun intended, we made two types of bars: bake-at-home oatmeal cranberry walnut energy bars, and “blaze your own trail, bake your own bar” chocolate chip energy bars.

These brilliant folk are about blazing their own trail: what is not to love? They make politically correct look like an afterthought: all natural, no preservatives, made with organic oats and flax seed. These bars are made with options: original, dairy free or less sweet (tolerance just became the norm: did we miss anyone?). You can bake these with applesauce and yogurt, sub the yogurt with water, or use less yogurt, a trickle of water and a dash of vanilla flavoring (I am sensing organic vanilla would be the best choice).

And I really, really think the trail these makers are blazing is brilliant: organic, wheat and dairy sensitive, recycled materials for the box itself, options if you need less sugar, no preservatives, no hydrogenated oils, a source of Omega 3 “good” fats, and a welcome dose of protein. Why eat anything else? Oh, and an oven-baked fresh taste… on that one I really have to differ. Now granted it may be freshly baked, but the taste? Fresh is not an adjective I would use. Nor would I use warm and gooey or flaky and light. I wouldn’t even apply sweet or savory, cake-like or “like a granola bar.” Even the latter would be a compliment. Indeed, it tasted like… nothing really. And the consistency was like oatmeal baked and firmed up, in need of milk and maybe a whiff of sugar. But that is just me.
Look, I push the health wagon in my family. I cut up and provide fresh fruit, encourage them to try dry roasted edamame and vegetables from A to Z… and I genuinely love the entire concept behind Matisse and Jack’s bake-at-home bars. I really do. REALLY.

But they tasted like a nasty sponge. Okay, my palate is not so tuned into the flax, organic, spelt honey non-fructose, dirt-crusted food. I wish it were, but I had half a bite of each of these bars and could go no further. If the French Lady (French Ladies Don’t get Fat) taught me anything, it is to make your mouthfuls count. This really didn’t satisfy me on any level. Life is short and if food tastes like a dried out sponge it isn’t worth it to me, no matter how “good for you” it is. I want to enjoy my food and a piece of organic fruit or a pile of spinach from the farmer’s market will easily satisfy my nutrient deficiencies but with some palate-worthy panache.

But don’t ask me. I am another generation. Our children are better testers of the new brand of cognitive eating. If they like it, I will buy it for their health, if not just to support the recycling endeavor of the box itself. So? My 10 year old said it lacked in taste and my 11 year had maybe two bites. I think it was the physical equivalent of a shoulder shrug. Maybe it is an acquired taste. I would like to think so, because I genuinely think these folks have the right idea. And maybe I will buy a bunch of boxes to support their cause for responsible, nutritional, organic, health-savvy, recyclable eating—though I probably wouldn’t bake the bars. But don’t listen to me: go and buy a case-full. Try them, have your neighbors try them and then even if you don’t like them, buy the boxes because it is the right thing to do… which is why all I can really think to say, in a word, of this very product review is: arrrggh!

What are your comfort foods? I would reach for homemade macaroni, lasagna, maybe some chili, or just a pile of cheese with a bottle of red wine. I could find a content place with some olive oil and artisan bread, or a bowl full of hearty soup. Though your reach-for comfort foods might be different than mine, in the end it is all about warming up our tummies, injecting some semblance of peace into our souls, experiencing a pinch of relaxation, and/or the feeling of receiving a food-centric hug. At least for me–and my kiddos–comfort foods are all about feeling good.

My kids’ list of comfort foods are different than my own. I thought about what would make my fourth grader content, feeling good and warmed with familiarity via his food. What does he reach for time and again? What are his favorites that he has hand-selected to warm his taste buds, tickle his tummy and enlarge his heart?

Oh the list that came to mind: ketchup with hash browns, mustard with salami and cheese on a baguette, scrambled eggs, nutella on toast, [homemade] fruit smoothies, pears, bacon. Are comfort foods ever good for you? In his case we manage to balance these food loves with a lot of food likes—many of which are a slew of fruits, vegetables (roasted potatoes, lemon broccoli, carrots and apples), and the like.

I went out on a limb recently and offered him a chance to “taste test” ketchup. I am always looking for ways to cut out the bad (in this case too much ketchup) and replace it with good (in this case, too much organic or homemade ketchup). Yes, I made ketchup from scratch and bought organic ketchup for him to try next to the Heinz original. Sure, he tried all three. Wincing and moaning and curiously swapping one dab of ketchup for another. The end result? He decided to eat his hash browns with mustard—a choice that he knew would deliver feel-good with every bite.

When I was a kid, I always loved the creamed honey with peanut butter, and the honey would soak into the bread by lunch, giving it a crystallized crunch, a texture I adored. I would make blackberry jam, but our blackberries usually were sequestered to their champion role as pie-fillers. So many options, so many personalities and opinions all borne out of this simple, unassuming sandwich.

And yet… you must tempt your children with just one more alternative. Grilled. Yes, you heard me: grilled. Some random person made me a grilled PB&J a gazillion years ago. And that officially became MY favorite way to eat this “standard” sandwich. And now, of course, my kids like the warmed version too.

Treat it like a grilled cheese sandwich, or pop it into your panini grill (if you were lucky enough to get one for Christmas). Just lightly butter the outsides of each bread, make your favorite peanut butter and jelly combo and grill in a skillet over low-medium until each side is lightly browned. It is good because: the outside is crispy, the inside peanut butter is creamy and warm and the jelly is notably cold and perfectly sweet.

I wish you many happy, sometimes grilled, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in 2007! To hear me ramble more about my infatuation with PB&J’s, click here.

The idea is to take our two sons, now in 4th and 5th grades, to a nice restaurant to work on 1) manners, 2) trying new foods, and 3) developing their palate/opinion on cuisines. Our default dining spots don’t count, so when we hit our neighborhood joints like Rosita’s, Pagliaccis, or Red Mill Burgers they don’t qualify as “nice, new restaurants.” Nor would they stand out in my boys’ minds as unique and different from what they have encountered before. To us they are familiar, easy places to frequent where we often order “the usual.”

I adore finding new restaurants, trying menus deep and wide, exercising my palate. And I really love the idea of my kids pushing their palates to do the same.

I often tell them they probably haven’t tasted their favorite food yet. When they were little tykes I would tell them, “your eyes are not in charge, your mouth is,” so they would at least attempt to move beyond the visual put-offs of multiple colors, something scrambled, stewed, or completely new. When they were in their younger elementary years, I would encourage them to give different dishes a percentage depending on how much they liked something (they would try anything just to give their personal vote—”Mom, I give it a 67% or a 32%”). Now enter nicer restaurants—we are making progress, folks.

Just last weekend we visited, on a whim, a very new-to-us restaurant in Vancouver, B.C., the Red Door. My 10-year-old’s palate was finally primed for a pan-Asian experience. It was perfect; we ordered a handful of dishes to share and they loved some and disliked others, wondered if it would taste better if the pot stickers were crispy instead of soft. Our family favorite was the Shaking Beef with caramelized red onions, accompanied by a tiny dipping bowl of salt/pepper/lime zest right next to the beef. Lovely, interesting, memorable.

Though my goal is to provide them with a plethora of unique food memories, I may very well be encouraging them to be food critics! They are increasingly curious about food, confident in their food praises and criticisms (”Mom, don’t take this the wrong way but I think you could have cooked the beans a bit longer”), and raring to jump to the next unique food experience.

Palates evolve, we tell them; even as kids your mom and dad didn’t like tomatoes and now we love them!

Although last year we fell short of our monthly excursion goal, I would say we made it to almost half a dozen unique restaurant experiences with our boys. No doubt a few of their new favorite restaurants are Lola (Seattle), Red Door in Vancouver, B.C., and Crow (Seattle). Our Christmas Eve tradition is to go to dinner at Mama Melina’s, an amazing Italian restaurant with ambiance bigger than the place itself, occasional bursting of opera music via the owner, a sprightly mix with dim lights, authentic cuisine, and a warm, family feel. I guess I have my opinions, too.

Because it was such a great experience for the entire family, our monthly unique eating experience will no doubt become a traditional, annual, family resolution. I cannot wait to discover what great restaurants we will experience—as a family—in 2007.

It just wouldn’t be Christmas without the aroma of baking cookies and vision of candy-striped sweets marching forth from my kitchen. And no cooking or baking experience is more tempting to my children than when the results involve cookie dough, frosting, moist cakes, and fresh-out-of-the-oven treats: “Honey, would you like to help me steam asparagus, or would you rather make gingerbread?” No contest.

And so it is this year, many hands helping me bake goodies for friends and neighbors, school teachers, art and music teachers, and unsuspecting helpers in our lives like the postman, dry cleaner, coach, and pharmacist. Each year we get to play with ideas: Shall we bake a tray of festive cookies? Make specialty sweet breads? Sweet and spicy nuts? Give them summer yummies canned into glass jars?

This year we mixed it up, handing out blueberry chutney that I jarred mid-summer, piling easy-to-make peppermint bark in cellophane wrap with pretty ribbons, rolling snowball cookies in confectioners sugar (though these may not make it out of our kitchen) and delivering mini loaves of eggnog pound cake to teachers and neighbors. Don’t forget to peek at the mountain of cookies and goodies that are spread across the blogosphere and World Wide Web. A few kid-friendly, kitchen-helper choices include peanut butter sandwich cookies, ginger pecans, seasonal cupcakes, or this long list of Christmas cookies.

Who started this whimsical tradition of building houses out of candy? Was it a baker with leftover dough from making gingerbread men? Perhaps remnants from the classic story about Hansel & Gretel? Did you as a child make them? All I remember is making Christmas trees out of a tall styrofoam cone, lots of toothpicks, and a bowl of colored, sugared gum drops.

My sons have made gingerbread houses, one way or another, year after year. Whether in the classroom with milk cartons and graham crackers (and big tubs of candy and piles of make-shift, sticky, get-in-your hair frosting), or at home with the standard Costco, Trader Joe’s or Williams-Sonoma Gingerbread House Kits. It just wouldn’t be Christmas wihtout the annual mortaring of custom-built cookie and candy homes.

This year was no exception, and the quaint cabins already adorn a nearby table. A worthwhile albeit messy adventure for families, parents can expect to clean up for longer than it takes for these little gingerbread gems to be built. But if you don’t mind the sugary mess, gingerbread house making provides a solid holiday memory, playing with candy, creative design opportunities, some form of architecture lesson, and above all, provides the quintessential activity.

I have even heard of people throwing gingerbread house parties, though I myself couldn’t afford the requisite clean-up crew to come and suck the icing out of my carpet. And really, I don’t want to be responsible for supporting the digestion of colored dyes, oodles of sugar, and fingers-in-the-mouth that come with making candied cabins. That might be a cop-out for a full-party (yet effective); for now I will stick to (note pun) providing an annual architecture event for my own children—candy canes, sugary rooftops, and all.

And don’t forget to add the Christmas music, warm up some cider or hot chocolate, and take loads of photos; it will be the topper to a memorable gingerbread building event.
Gingerbread recipes:
http://www.gingerbreadlane.com/recipe.html
http://familyfun.go.com/recipes/special/specialfeature/holiday_cookies_ms/
http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/recipe_views/views/103229

For more info:
Wikipedia on Gingerbread: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gingerbread
Wikipedia on Hansel & Gretel: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hansel_and_Gretel
The Gingerbread Factory: http://www.gingerbreadfactory.com/index.htm