When I was about 12, my family experienced a crisis that to this day is still known as the "Vegetable Medley Incident." There were nine kids in the family, and my mother worked hard to feed a crowd on a budget. It was hard to be creative when the kids lined up every night like middle schoolers in a cafeteria school lunch line, but she did her best.

One night, she served us a dish that was a strange unholy mix of carrots, corn, beans, broccoli and peas. She brought it out to the family with a flourish, clearly proud of this new dish, and announced that as a side dish, we were having "Vegetable Medley." (She didn't say "Tadaaa!" but might as well have.) Then she went back into the kitchen to eat a separate, but better meal with my father.

Pop had an ironclad rule: Have all the kids you want, but never, ever eat dinner with them. Also, eat better than they do. I'll bet Pop didn't get Vegetable Medley. As a kid, I thought it was really self-centered, but as an adult, I often wish I had the chutzpah Pop did.

My siblings and I took one look at the Vegetable Medley, then at each other, and silently made a pact. My oldest sister took out her napkin, spread it on the table, and everyone rushed over and scraped the disgusting (but healthy) dish from their plates onto the napkin. My sister tied up the napkin in a ball and dropped it under the table.

All was fine until my mother came in and, noticing that the McKay kids had eaten all their veggies for the first time in history, vowed to make us Vegetable Medley at least once a week. At this point, somebody -- me -- broke down and admitted that the offending side dish was on the floor, where the family dog was sniffing it out suspiciously. My siblings never forgave me.

As an adult father of five, I don't have to cook dinner very often, as my wife is an excellent cook (OK, she made me put that in). Every once in a while, if she has to be out for the evening, I have to fill in, and I pride myself on being able to make a few good dishes. I can do blackened fish. I can also do a nice blackened chicken, and every once in a while I can make hamburgers. With Cajun seasoning. (We have an awfully big container of Cajun blackening seasoning.) I have also prided myself on my chicken nuggets.

I follow a pretty simple recipe. I cut chicken into big chunks, dredge them in eggs and flour, and fry them in olive oil. And just a little bit of Cajun seasoning.

I've been doing it for years, and it always meets with rave reviews. I get stuff like, "Wow Dad, you made chicken nuggets again!" and "Boy, these always taste exactly the same!" and "What's for dessert?"

Last week, though, we took the kids out to a nice restaurant, the kind of place where you really shouldn't take kids because they won't appreciate it. At the dinner table, as my kids were scarfing down Ravioli di Magro and Pappardelle Al Ragu di Cinghiale, the conversation turned, naturally, to the worst meals they'd ever had.

At some point, someone -- I'm not naming them, but believe me, I know exactly who it was -- blurted out, and I quote, "The worst is Dad's chicken nuggets!" Everyone instantly agreed, with one person -- and I remember this kid, too -- making silently gagging gestures.

Dad's chicken nuggets, I found out from these prepubescent food critics, were too big, too greasy, and, believed it or not, often undercooked.

At some point, everybody remembered that Dad was actually in the room, at the table. I expected them to say something like, "Dad, we're kidding!" or "It wasn't that bad!" or even a lame "Sorry, Dad, we didn't mean it!" but all I got was an awkward stare and stifled laughter.

I stared at a table full of offputting offspring. I really, truly believe that you should never strike children, especially in public, but I was tempted. (I would have started with the one making gagging gestures, but wouldn't have stopped there.)

At this point, I remembered something from my childhood that would have helped with this very situation. At that moment, Pop's spirit appeared at my shoulder, and whispered, "Told you never to eat with • %$#@^& kids!"

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