On Rhetoric
Arguing with toddlers + venison and lamb curry.
Long-time friend, first-time reader, Cheffy, pointed out that the statement in last week’s dispatch “anything prepared correctly should taste good” was a bit of a tautology. Mea culpa, I suppose — though I would argue that it’s less of a tautology than a truism. I do hope that such a rhetorical fallacy won’t keep any of you from reading this newsletter, PhD’s-to-be least of all.
A tautology is, of course, a statement that is is true by the way of being true: it says the same thing twice1. It’s one of a number of common rhetorical fallacies that show up often in writing2. In high school, I remember studying and being quizzed on a list of these fallacies3 and took great care not to make any in my own writing. Nowadays, as a semi-professional and mediocre essayist, I am free to make as many of these rhetorically-weak statements as I choose — the only repercussions being a soft admonishment from a friend.
Having a three-year-old give great occasion to study up on fallacies: Kiddo uses them often and with great effect; tautologies being a favorite. She recently4 has taken to delaying bedtime. Perhaps this has something to do with the fact that now, at 7:00pm, when she normally goes to sleep, the sun is still shining, but, whatever the cause, she has become a master at stalling, employing these devices — and more — all the way. The normal bedtime routine of “last call”-PJs-potty-brushing teeth-get in bed-turn on the night light-sing songs-go to bed has evolved into a never-ending list of requests bolstered with appeals to emotion.
“I want to floss my teeth!” “I’m thirsty!” “I wanted milk!” “Hippo needs a snack!” “I need a snack!” “This shirt is too hot!” “This blanket is too itchy!” “My legs are cold!” “I have to go potty!” “I don’t have to go potty!” “Where’s Mommy!?”
These complaints go on and on until we finally wrangle her into bed and hope we don’t need to make one to seven more trips up to attend to a new need5. Recently, one of Kiddo’s favorite moves has been “my belly hurts.” Whether it’s because she just had a cupcake for her last-call snack, chugged four cups of milk in bed, or has refused to go potty for the last three hours, we’ll never know — but the only way to make her stomach feel better is for her to have her “medicine.6”
A typical exchange:
“I need medicine!””
“Why?”
“Because my belly hurts.”
“Why does your belly hurt?”
“Because I need medicine!”
That, Kiddo, is a tautology — and unfortunately, it works in our house. It’s tough to argue with a three-year-old, especially one who doesn’t play by the rhetorical rules. So downstairs I go, filling a cup with medicine and bringing a squirt dispenser7, and then back up I trudge, to sing songs, drop a non sequitur8 to distract and hope that will do the trick.
Last weekend, with Mrs. CWD being away on an overdue weekend with friends, I was left to fend with this verbal sparring while also trying to make myself dinner. Needing something relatively hands off — since, you know, I was constantly up and down from Kiddo’s room (the Warthog, fortunately, having taking to sleeping relatively well — at least until the wee hours of the morning when he decided he’d like to wake up and protest the proverbial milk bar” being closed) — I threw some rice in the rice cooker and some stew meat in a pot and made a little improvised curry.
I’ll attempt to recreate that for you now — but I apologize there are no pictures: I was too busy filling a prescription for my unruly toddler and explaining to her the finer points of persuasive essaying to take photos.
This recipe is like we used to do it in the old days — no pictures and the faintest bit of instruction. In a heavy bottomed pot, well-oiled with ghee, brown some stew meat (in this case lamb and venison). Season liberally with a curry powder, garam masala, or some combination thereof. Add in some quartered onion and some diced sweet potatoes. Cover with coconut milk and add a splash of fish sauce and a dash of your favorite Asian hot sauce. Bring to a boil, then cut to a simmer for 2-3 hours, stirring occasionally, until the meat is tender and sauce partially reduced. Serve over rice.
So there we have it. While you’ll have to use your imagination to picture what this looks like, I assure you that it tastes good because it is correctly prepared9. You can trust me on that because I’d never lie when it comes to food.
With those statements out of the way, I’ll leave you to your weekends. If you’re belatedly celebrating Passover, I wish you a sweet one10, and if you are celebrating life, may it be just as sweet. If you’re just looking for something to read, here is a fascinating article about the privatization of public land in the Mountain West. However you decide to spend your time, spend it wisely.
We’ll see you here next week.
Think: “things will be different once they things change,” or “if you know, you know,” or, my personal favorite — which is a common ending to German fairy tales — “and if they are not yet dead, then they are still alive.”
That statement itself being a tautology — by definition, anything that is common will have to show up often.
I say recently here when in fact this has been on-going for most of the year.
Mrs. CWD will remind me here that we have a plan to deal with these tactics and by responding to her whims, we’re just reinforcing that they work — and yeah, she probably has a point.
I’ll note here that “medicine” is just a sprinkling of flavored magnesium powder in water — we lean heavily into the placebo effect here in the Household CWD.
How that made it into the mix, I’m not sure.
This works best mid-wailing: “Want to hear something crazy? Mommy is in Texas!”
You have to give just as much as you take.
Though perhaps not “correctly” to someone who makes curry more than once a quarter.
And one ideally involving a delightful lamb shank.
Your use of footnotes is a killer technique. Reminds me of Month Python’s use of subtitles at the beginning of Holy Grail.
I had a rhetoric professor in college who would have us all read our essays aloud one by one. When I finished mine, he would exclaim, "Everyone take out your imaginary .22 and shoot Andrew in the nuts," and then explain why my writing was bad. It was an interesting teaching technique, but effective nonetheless.
Don't be afraid to threaten your toddler with the same. It just may reduce the number of tautologies.