Friday, May 29, 2009
I would love to teach my kids how to cook. And I plan to, but I can totally see other things getting in the way and cooking lessons falling through the cracks. I sometimes fantasize about Andrew growing up to be cool. I picture him nice, popular, confident and a savant in the kitchen. You know, like those hot guys on the Food Network. Bobby Flay, watch out.
I know though, that Andrew becoming cool would be a genetic miracle. His parents were hopeless nerds in high school and although they try to cover up their nerdy roots, they really aren't fooling anyone. Stranger things have happened though. A mom can dream.
Anyway, Andrew has not joined me in the kitchen for a while now. He'd rather build forts than loaves of bread. Today though, he decided to help with the baking and let his blocks have the morning off. I was glad to have the help, even though everything takes much longer and gets much messier. I am still finding white, dusty hand prints here and there around the apartment.
It's hard to tell what he knows about cooking so far. He knows the name of a lot of ingredients and he knows the taste of plain flour, baking soda, baking powder and other odd flavors he's sampled. He knows that you usually need to cook in order to eat and that a man comes once a week with boxes of groceries to use in our cooking. I guess that's a good start. Maybe we are further on our way with cooking lessons that I thought.
Now about him becoming cool, I don't even know where to begin.
Posted by Dave at 2:37 PM