I have a son who is an architect in New York.  He has morphed over the years from the nerdy kid who only would eat hamburgers, even in five star restaurants, to an over-the-top look-down-his-nose-at-you foodie. This may be the result of “piano dinners” that I prepared for him while he was growing up.

For the uninitiated, “piano dinners” are dinners that ACTUALLY CATCH ON FIRE.  At times I confess that I would put a casserole in the oven when he was younger, and then put earphones on and play my Roland piano. I would drift off; notes and melodies leading me off to far flung musical happy places. All well and good, until he would be shaking my elbow exclaiming “Mommy, mommy there is a fire in the oven!”

So now he is a foodie. Because I live in Chicago and he lives in New York we often g-mail chat  when we are supposed to be doing other things. Somehow our roles have reversed. I will ask, “What are you going to make for dinner?” and he will tell me about his plans to make lime infused planked salmon with hazelnut risotto which is somewhat annoying because well, I was going to make tacos.

I have learned to live with the humiliation, but there seems to be a new development with the dog. I think he has been reading my emails with my son.

Buddy has become a foodie.

He has been fed a very high quality (read expensive) kibble with all natural ingredients since he was a puppy. The kind you can only get at expensive pet shops, not places like Pet Smart.  That is until recently.    Now he is only interested in finer fare.  I have had to make additions to his meal, adding little pieces of filet mignon, the occasional bits of marinated grilled chicken, or perhaps a small dab of an interesting cheese. If I try to just give him his kibble, he gives me that signature foodie look, that look-down-your-nose-at-you foodie stare that seems to ask “Really?”

I think I am going to go play the piano.