In Defense of the Chicken Nugget

Cluck yeah.

Recall the last meal you really enjoyed. Settled down in a warm, relaxing environment, slowly sipping on an Old Fashioned or a jammy zinfandel. You savor each bite, meander through meaningful conversation, easing through the passing hours. Remember?

Me neither.

In fact, I struggle to recall a time where I wasn’t half chewing, half telling my daughter to get out from under the table. Eating now feels like a NASCAR race, rushing to finish as we navigate frequent pitstops for water cups, wipes, ketchup and Parmesan cheese.

It all starts as we claw them away from the bonkers activity of the evening hour. (*Note: As parents, we sometimes refer to the times of 5:00 - 7:00 p.m. as the witching hours, where I generally want to cast a spell and disappear for the night. Emotions run hot and energy levels are draining, but some kind of magical Gremlins force takes over children, forcing them to play games “like throw a ball at the window” or “naked Floor is Lava.”)

When they finally plunk down at the table, we hear one of two things: “What is this? or “I don’t like this.” For the former, the latter immediately follows the answer. Depending on the day, we use various techniques to hold our position. “Just try it. You might like it,” or “It’s delicious. I made it special just for you!” Those are the good days. “Then don’t eat it. You’re not getting anything else,” or “Then STARVE!” as if we’ve magically become some kind of dungeon keeper. This goes on for some time, now completely oblivious to our own meals or half-assed conversation. But guess who generally wins? We worry about them going hungry, not sleeping or tantruming for the rest of the evening. The fake crying morphs into a mischievous smile, as they once again get their way.

Bring on the chicken nuggets.

That breaded, crispy, perfectly shaped mystery meat we all know and love. Memories of childhood flood our palate as we reminisce about ketchup dunks and dino nuggets herding across our plastic plates. They can be microwaved, sautéed, grilled or baked (but who has time for that?). I’ve even witnessed my kid gnawing on a frozen one straight out of the bag.

Ready for some controversy? Check out Thrillist’s ranking of fast food nuggets.

No, I doubt they pack the nutritional punch the American Academy of Pediatrics recommends, but neither does dirt, glue or finger paint—all of which have acted as an appetizer for our rugrats. Kudos to the many brands that have attempted the switcheroo, slipping in cauliflower, plant-based mush or something called “chik’n.” My kids don’t know the difference between burps and farts, but they become a Michelin-tested food critic when it comes to the substance of their nuggets.

And no, we didn’t craft this dinner from scratch or serve up a five-course feast from our gourmet kitchen alongside Martha Stewart. There is no shame in this game. The foreign silence that befalls a household as your kids are chomping down a nugget, tender or stegosaurus is divine. And just for a moment, it makes you feel like you did your job—the kids are eating, you’ve survived another day and your mental sanity, albeit frayed, is still intact. I give credit to the parents out there who run their kitchens like well-oiled machines and I envy the kids who will “eat anything” (thank you, Karen, we appreciate you making time for our playdate while your 5-year-old puts calculus and piano lessons on hold).

For the rest of us, we can do what we we can and we always have our nuggets. But let’s not get started on mac n’ cheese.