We had an interesting new chapter in the ongoing war of food a couple of weeks ago. It was dinner time and J had made chicken vindaloo on the grill. Or is that vindaloo chicken? I don’t know.

In any case, while it was very tasty, neither of the boys were willing to try it. Immediately upon its presentation both announced that they don’t like chicken. Which, of course, is utter nonsense. They eat more chicken than anything else.

There was a brief argument that was followed by a fairly extended period of stalemate. This stalemate was a mixed blessing. On the one hand, neither of them were eating. On the other, they were at least being quiet enough to let us eat. Finally, as I was just starting on my third piece, I leaned over to C and asked “Hey, want to know a secret?”

Of course he did. I leaned in close and whispered. “It’s not chicken. It’s really frog.”

I really don’t know what made me try such a silly thing. Maybe I’ve been reading too much Calvin and Hobbes. In any case, the little guy was amazed. His eyes widened and he looked to his mom for confirmation, so I quickly shushed him. “Shhh… It’s a secret!”

He took a taste and then started chowing down. It really was good.

Immediately, his little brother wanted to know the secret, so I leaned over and shared it with him in a stage whisper. He took a little taste, and then dug in.

I’m counting it a success. They both finished all their chicken, and I really don’t see the harm done.

Okay, okay. I shouldn’t be lying to my kids. But was I? What does “Vindaloo” mean, any way? As far as I know, it could mean “prepared to taste just like frog.”