I think when I have kids, I'm going to rename the foods I make for them for my own amusement. For example, I think it would be interesting to call lasagna "chicanery" and satiate my children with the dish before sending them to play at a friend's. Their friend's mother might ask them if they are hungry, and do they want a snack? To which my wonderful children might reply, "No thanks, we're full of chicanery."
Then all the other mommies in the kindergarten class will hang out at the PTA meetings (I won't be there because I don't support meaningless pseudo-government) and say, "Mrs. Twisby is one eccentric lady! But her unwashed, barefoot, hippie-named kids are way cuter than mine!"
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My friend Jennifer introduced her boychildren to pork by telling them it was hyena meat. She explained that there was a local population (near Albany, NY) and she had a regular supplier whom she met by dark of night in a movie rental parking lot. A year later, after many happy meals, Sullivan asked Jennifer what was for dinner. Leftovers from the night before, she said. "Oh, Mom," whined Sullivan, "hyena again?"
That is awesome.
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