How does one go about getting a Michelin Star rating? I’ve never really had to ponder this question before now, but it’s becoming increasingly apparent that I’ve stumbled upon a gastronomical wonder, the likes of which I’m positive are not served in any fine dining restaurant in the world.
Perhaps I need to elaborate. I’m not a chef. I am an average home cook. I like making food for my family and I share the cooking load with Emma. The food that I make is okay (I like it, at least), but it’s never going to blow anyone away. It’s pretty standard Australian fare – that is a hodgepodge, bastardised mix of dishes from all of the other continents of the world.
Usually Hannah eats what I make for her. She is pretty good at sitting in her highchair and putting away spoonful after spoonful of whatever I have to offer. More often than not she requests (cries until food arrives) second and even third helpings. But sometimes it ends up on the floor. This is where the magic happens.
- You see, no matter how much I try to clean up every scrap after every meal, tiny morsels seem to escape my cloth. They find their way to the four corners of the house, to mature in flavour and be found at a later date.
While my old eyes are incapable of spotting these crumbs, Hannah’s eyes appear to be able to spot them with laser-like precision. Or maybe it’s her infant nose that’s more finely tuned to the aroma of two-day old toast crumb. Whatever it is, she can hunt them down and suck them up in the exact amount of time it takes for a parent to yell “whatever that is, don’t put it in your…”
The amazing thing is that small pieces of food that Hannah has discarded from her highchair because she didn’t like the taste become tantalisingly tasty after even just a few minutes on the floor. Just last night, a discarded piece of capsicum found its way into her mouth in the mere seconds between me releasing her from the highchair and going to the kitchen to get a cloth. She sat happily chewing on the item that had been so offensive moments before.
Even more remarkable it that items that are not traditionally considered ‘food’ become palatable. Pieces of grass, small shreds of paper, loose threads of cotton and unidentifiable ‘miscellaneous pieces of black’ are all enthusiastically consumed at every opportunity.
So, I invite the good people of Michelin to come on over and see if I’ve stumbled on to something truly game changing. I propose the following menu:
Dad’s Degustation of Delectable Delicacies – Fine Floor Food
- A single blade of grass, floor dried for three days
- 3 grains of quinoa, smuggled to the floor on the foot of a baby
- A strip of raw capsicum, lightly dusted (literally)
- 1/2 cm of toast crust, matured under furniture for indeterminable length of time
- Unidentifiable ‘miscellaneous pieces of black’
- All you can eat feast of paper
- A small strip of steak, discarded from highchair and tap-water rinsed three times
- Peach splatter