Sometimes we call The Little Buddy Jambalaya.
But I can explain.
The night before he was born we took his mother and his aunt and uncle out to California Pizza Kitchen. His mother ordered Jambalaya which, on the menu there, is explained as such, "Blackened chicken and shrimp in a spicy Jambalaya sauce with crawfish, Andouille sausage and Tasso ham served on linguini fini and topped with fresh green onions."
I've got a finicky stomach--to say the very least--and I've never been able to handle anything particularly spicy. I was sitting next to her and when the food arrived the spicy smell tickled my senses and I honestly could not imagine actually eating it. The smell alone was terribly overpowering. She made a few comments about how hot it was and how maybe the spices would help Matthew make a decision to get out. Maybe there just wouldn't be enough room in there for a steaming plate of spicy jambalaya and her baby. (Apparently, there was plenty of room and he was delivered by Cesarean the next day.)
It was over that meal that we learned of her affinity for spices.
The Rock Star has a sweet tooth. This is probably because I spent the majority of my pregnancy with him craving cake, donuts, ice cream, cheesecake, cupcakes, frosting--on something or out of the can, I wasn't particular, coffee cake, popsicles, sweet rolls, pancakes, waffles. Ahem. Okay. I think you get the point. Over the course of time, it's become obvious to us that just as I passed a sweet tooth on to my unborn child, Matthew's mother passed a spice tooth on to hers.
The other night I made enchiladas. I used mild sauce so I have no idea what on earth happened but the entree was ridiculously spicy. Garrett put a bite in his mouth and, as saliva started pooling around it, he declared, "SPICY!" I chastised him, informing him that I'd used mild sauce. Then I took my first bite. Before I even began to chew it I apologized and told Garrett that he didn't have to eat his. I opened it up and scrapped out the insides for him. Then I managed to get mine down but only because I'd gone to the effort to make them and didn't want to waste an entire pan of enchiladas. I asked Troy what he thought of them.
After a long pause he replied, "Well, I can eat them. I don't prefer them this spicy."
But Jambalaya, well, he sat in his high chair and wolfed his entire enchilada down without a care in the world. I scrapped some of my sauce off and still had to swish every bite down with a large swallow of water. His brother wouldn't even put any in his mouth. His daddy ate them with a slight look of concern on his face. Not Matthew. Matthew ate his enchilada gone. Then, while we were doing the dishes, he picked up his plate and licked the remaining sauce off.
Because that's how Jambalaya rolls.