Feeding You

Dear Charlie,

It’s Monday, August 11th 2025, and over the last few weeks, you’ve been trying some solid foods, which of course thrills me. Here are some things you’ve enjoyed eating so far.

Sweet potatoes. Roasted at 425°F until soft and tender with bits of caramelization bursting out of the skins, about an hour or so. I split them open and wait for them to cool and feed little spoonfuls to you. You like these a lot, but then it leads to constipation so we have to ease up on the sweet potatoes. I can’t expect you to love food I myself don’t love which is why I’m not surprised that you don’t seem to care for avocados. You already have good taste. Mangoes– simply can’t get enough. I’ve read you can cover the pits with flax seed or something as some sort of edible toy– once you’re gripping things we might try that, seems fun.

Blueberries. “You’re a blueberry boy, a sweet blueberry boy” is a made-up song your dad and I sing to you a lot. You absolutely love blueberries. Fresh ones, squeezed between my thumb and forefinger until the skin bursts and the fruit is exposed (all of your clothes are now stained with blueberries, as are most of mine). At first, I was so afraid of you choking that I’d crush them beyond recognition before feeding them to you, so you’d kind of lick the crude blueberry puree from my fingers. Now, in an act of love and service, I bite each individual berry open for you, peeling the skin away (choking hazard?) so you can then (very forcefully) nibble on the “whole” (skinless, slightly crushed) berry with your gums, it’s quite cute. It must feel good to you (“I think he’s teething” is a thing we say a lot, though still, no signs of teeth). It feels like feeding a goat at the petting zoo, and like when I feed a goat at the petting zoo, I giggle.

Other purees. Carrots. These you enjoyed but not as much as the sweet potatoes. Once I tried to sneak a beet in there (seemed healthy). You knew these were not regular carrots and did not care for them. I rehydrate prunes from Sahadi’s and puree those to keep things moving, and wow, do they really keep things moving. Peas that I bought at the farmers market with the intention of shelling and serving for a dinner party with a good cheese and some olive oil like we were living la dolce vita but I ran out of time so ended up freezing them to later boil and puree for you instead. Incidentally, you absolutely love living la dolce vita.

Plain oatmeal you seem indifferent to, which I get. Anyone who is not indifferent to plain oatmeal is either lying or boring. So I make plain oatmeal (oats, water, a bit of salt) and add almost equal parts blueberries. I cook both together until the blueberries burst and dye the oatmeal a very unnatural looking purple color (though it is natural, how wonderful is that?). In my mind I’m making a sort of blueberry jam, thickened with oatmeal instead of sugar– this feels smart and perhaps a little groundbreaking to me, though I’m sure there’s a website that already tells parents to do just this. Or there’s a website that tells parents to NEVER do this. Either way, I have not read those websites. I eat this un-plain oatmeal and it’s pretty good but frankly, it could use some sugar (I’m avoiding giving that to you for as long as I can, though I’m not sure why. One day, you’ll have your first ice cream and that will be that).

I read that you need iron, so I make you a pot of yellow lentils, cooked with turmeric, water and salt, simmered till tender and no longer soupy to a perfect coarse mush. You eat these but only seem to like them when mixed with yogurt and a tiny dot of prune puree on the tip of the spoon. I’ve now opened a small, bespoke restaurant just for you where the food is slightly under-seasoned and extremely soft. This restaurant is open two to three times a day for five to twenty minutes at a time. I would probably not eat at this restaurant on account of all the purees and under-salting, but you don’t have a choice (though you do seem to be enjoying everything so far. Compliments to me, the chef).

The next time I make lentils for you, I start by cooking some onion in a bit of coconut oil then add in some grated zucchini because I’m starting to worry I only feed you fruit. I add a little ground cumin because I’d like to introduce you to other, less spicy spices (you didn’t love black pepper) and end up pouring in a bit too much broth. I also realize it’s more zucchini than lentil, so now this is on its way to becoming a really wonderful spiced zucchini soup. I simmer until the zucchini and lentils are so soft they both nearly melt into nothing. I love to avoid a blender when possible, so I feel blessed. I feed it to you to mixed reviews (though, again, with a little yogurt and some prune puree, you’re all in). I share some with your dad and I also eat some for lunch, though we skip the prunes. This is the first thing I make for you that’s also for us, and that feels important.

Spiced Zucchini Soup

Serves 4

The bulk of this soup here is zucchini (two whole pounds, which could be anywhere from two large to five small zucchini…the mystery of summer squash…), but the thickening power comes from the addition of either lentils or rice, cooked beyond individual grains to a soft tender mush, giving you a creamy soup while allowing you to skip the blender. Good for babies and adults seeking comfort. All of the seasonings are flexible (and should be adjusted depending on who you’re cooking this for), but I will say this is lightly spiced to begin with, as zucchini is delicately flavored (an understatement), so feel free to increase if you’re wanting “more”. All to say, take what you like and leave what you don’t, though I do recommend leaving the onion, zucchini, lentils (or rice) and broth. Without which you might not have any soup at all.

Ingredients

• 2 tablespoons coconut oil or olive oil
• 1 small yellow or red onion, finely chopped
• Kosher salt, freshly ground pepper
• 1 teaspoon cumin seed or fennel seed (or half and half)
• ¼ teaspoon ground turmeric
• Pinch crushed red pepper flakes, optional
• 2 pounds zucchini or yellow summer squash, grated on a box grater
• ¾ cup yellow or red lentils or jasmine or basmati rice
• 6–8 cups vegetable or chicken broth or water plus better than bouillon
• 1 lemon, halved for squeezing over
• Yogurt, herbs and/or prune puree (if you’re feeding a baby), optional

Preparation

1. Heat coconut oil in a large pot over medium heat. Add onion and season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally until totally softened and starting to fry lightly at the edges, 10–12 minutes. Add cumin, turmeric and crushed red pepper flakes, if using. Cook a minute or two to toast and bloom the spices in the fat.

2. Add zucchini and season again with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the zucchini has softened completely and shrunk by nearly half (this is the liquid evaporating and the flavors concentrating). Add the lentils or rice and 6 cups of broth (start there, you can always add more). Bring to a simmer and reduce heat to medium low.

3. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the lentils (or rice) are fully cooked (25-35 minutes), perhaps overcooked (a good thing here) and soup is nicely thickened to your liking. Perhaps that's brothier, or more puree-like– either which way, you can always simmer longer or add more broth to suit your needs.

4. To serve, season again with salt and pepper, swirl in some yogurt if you want, top with herbs if you have, and a squeeze of lemon (a must).

DO AHEAD: Soup can be made 5 days ahead, stored sealed and refrigerated.

For the curious, I’ve been using this portable Kitchen Aid blender for all baby food and I love it. No, I will probably not “make my own baby food” forever. But I’m new here and while I have the time and he’s only eating like, a tablespoon at a time, it’s fun. This is a small blender that washes easily and I don’t have to plug it in. It’s probably good for smoothies, too— a thing I think I will “get into” one day, but never do.