Will American Kids Like It?

Nicaraguan Chancho Frito and Vigoron!

I set it up well. This was Nicaraguan party food. You get to eat it with your hands! Once they got through the typical um... what's this? Something new and therefore detestable? They loved it. This picture captures them chanting with glee "Chancho Frito!" instead of "Cheese!"

A month later, Elli (at left) suggested I serve it at her 6th birthday party.

Really? Instead of hot dogs? Really, I began to imagine... What would happen? A party of typical American kids and Nicaraguan food. Hm.

Before a spread of unusual fixins' I lead the young crowd of two- to seven-year-olds in a cheer: "CHANCHO FRITO! And VIGORON!"

They repeated with summer-camp-trained gusto: "CHANCHO FRITO and VIGORON!"

I showed them how to make their plates. First the yuca, then the fried pig skins, then the cabbage, then the pork bites. They assembled with seriousness, and an incomprehensible mixture of confidence and reluctance.

They sat at the picnic table. All was quiet. They appeared to be eating.

No one said Yuck! What the heck is this? No one said weird! No one crossed their arms. No one stuck their lip out. Elli, her dear mother sighed with relief, appeared to be safe from social destruction. For all I know, most kids ate somewhere between no bites and a couple, because the next time I looked over, the kids were running around the picnic table. I don't know what this means. I feal like a scientist who went out for coffee and missed IT HAPPEN, whatever her life-long experiment was.

Our learning for the day: a picnic table sprint is more fun for most American kids than Nicaraguan food.

But then, wait, there's still something happening. A kid, a latecomer.... the picnic-table-go-round has morphed into a quiet gathering around a distant tree, so this latecomer is eating without distraction. He's loving it. He's going for a second serving. He's not slowing down.



So there you have it. The learning for the day has just bloomed into something real. My two daughters, and their one friend make: THREE AMERICAN KIDS EAT NICARAGUAN FOOD AND LOVE IT.

Now that is solid. Should I call the papers?

This kid has just inspired in me a poem:

FEAR NOT FRIED PIG SKINS. FEAR NOT YUCA ROOT.
FEAR NOT ACHIOTE. FEAR NOT THIS FOOD.
EAT TO THE BEAT OF YOUR OWN HUNGRY HEART.
IF YOU ARE FEARLESS, YOU WILL BE FULL.