A lot of raising a kid is in-moment terror and in-retrospect laughter. Here's the scene: my kid's probably 8-9 months old; he's been eating solid food for a minute. Definitely still in the "try everything" phase. My wife and I are newly obsessed with this Vietnamese place down the street. My mom's in town and offering to go pick up lunch for us. And look! They have a papaya salad! That's perfect for a baby!
We set up lunch: Bánh mi for the adults, papaya salad, and some baby-friendly appetizers to share. The salad has some shredded lettuce, carrots, and cabbage in it. Shredded enough that we think the baby can eat it with close supervision. We are ready to have a nice lunch.
SURPRISE, DINGBATS! We didn't try the salad before giving it to the baby … and therefore didn't realize it had the spiciest goddamn dressing possible on it.Â
It was one of those clear dressings where you can see the salad glistening, but you assume it's like oil and vinegar or whatever. Nah. This was like jalapeños, red pepper flakes, and a thousand other unknown spices in a vinegar-based dressing. My wife and I both have a decent spice tolerance, and we thought it was way too much. I mean, we ate most of it, we're not food-wasting monsters, but it pushed our limits.
The baby, of course, having never tasted spice, flipped the absolute hell out. We could almost see it in slow motion: he tries a bite, he seems to like it, then he gets a super confused look on his face, then he starts shrieking. Shrieking shrieking. Remember those inconsolable screams Florence Pugh had in Midsommar? It was basically that. All three of us — my wife, my mom, and me — took turns pacing him around the room and trying to console him. When he finally calmed down, we put him back in his high chair, and you know what that devious child reached for? Another bite of papaya salad.