Punjabi Poohbutt

At Bill's Bi-Weekly Buffet (oddly enough always coinciding with payday), yours truly struggled mightily feeding my daughter's new appetites. You've guessed it: she's finally eating all solids (though you can sneak yogurt in every once in awhile). And you've also guessed it: she's become finicky as all get-out. Apparently, somebody has never heard of Dr. Atkins. This girl can eat her some carbs now. My biggest challenge is to slip something in besides. So far, sliced turkey, mashed peas, and an occasional broccoli spear will pass her lips. Otherwise, it's bread and milk all day (I guess that's how she keeps her girlish figure).

So, in order to not fall back on the usual French fries and noodles at my favorite ghetto Chinese buffet, I went to Delhi Dee-Lite instead. The change of location didn't help any. I failed with carrots, tomatoes, and lettuce. She didn't even want to touch the Tandoori chicken. I was trying to explain to her how rare it was to get tender Tandoori chicken at a buffet, but she was having none of it.

For little Poohbutt, it was all about the batter-fried veggies, the naan, and the Aishwarya Rai retrospective on the flat screen TV across the room. The once-most-beautiful woman in the world was lip-synching and dancing through 20 years of Bollywood hits--in clubs, in the mountains, on desert roads. There was even this steamy, weird-ass dry-humping video sans kissing, of course. Poohbutt was all into it, enraptured by the colorful saris, precision hand movements, and dazzling lights. With naan in hand, she boogied on down in her high chair, entertaining the multi-culti crowd that could appreciate tender tandoori and a fox-trotting toddler.

I don't know. If there's a Baby Bollywood somewhere, I might have to audition the kid. I don't know. Whattaya think?