ALVIE EATS SOUP

In stylish, quip-laden scenes, Collins (Fairy Nuff, p. 801, etc.) presents a picky eater extraordinaire. Alvie’s first word? Not “Daddy,” not “Mama,” but “Mulligatawny,” and ever afterward he has refused to dine on anything else. Parental concern changes to panic when Granny Franny, world-renowned chef (“ ‘The irony,’ said Alvie’s Dad, ‘The shame’ said Alvie’s mom”) announces that she’s paying a call. Frantic, the parents try depriving him (scene of Alvie in jail), overindulging him (scene of Alvie as round as an onion, calling for more), analyzing him (Alvie on the couch surrounded by assorted shrinks). But Alvie finds a soulmate when Granny disdains a table groaning with tasty comestibles, regally announcing that she only eats peas. All of the dialogue is set in boxes, as is the recipe for Mulligatawny Soup. Cheery, beneath a flyaway mop of strawy hair, and observed from any number of quirky angles, Alvie skips merrily across the pages, serenely indifferent to his frenzied parents’ tricks and stratagems. As the back cover says: “Contains nutcases suitable for vegetarians”—and a surefire recipe for chuckles. (Picture book. 5-7)