His Heston Blumenthal moments mean we’re late for nursery
My son is inconsolable, his jaw clenched, fists tight like little doughballs. We’re late leaving for nursery and he’s extremely upset, the kind of upset which, usually, I’d remedy by simply giving him whatever he wanted so we can be on our way. Unfortunately, as happens more frequently these days, the thing he wants does not exist.
‘Tomaaaaaato yoghurt,’ he screams, for the 10th time, ‘I want some tomaaaaato yoghurt.’ I tell him he can’t have tomato yoghurt, and for the following reasons. F irst, to the best of my knowledge, tomato yoghurt is not something that exists and is certainly not something to which he has become sufficiently acquainted that its denial should be provoking such a reaction. Furthermore, if tomato yoghurt did exist, I’d be willing to bet folding money that it would not find itself within the 1% of foodstuffs he actually likes, since he has never really enjoyed tomato in the first place. And finally, he’s already had a very sizeable breakfast of foods that a) he likes and b) have previously been recorded in the history of human civilisation.
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