For whatever reason would someone bear-and-or-acquire three children other than to raise up a small army of subsidiary house-cleaners, laundry-folders and cooks? It’s not like I haven’t toiled in servitude to them for twelve long years now. It’s about darn-tootin’ time they started giving back.
To that end, and also because I am haunted by the fact that she is technically two-thirds of the way raised and only approximately one-twenty-fifth of the way imbued with common sense, I have made it my summer goal to teach my eldest to cook. By the time I was her age I’d been entrusted to inhabit the house by myself in the hours between arriving home from school and my parents’ return from work; also I was expected to prepare at least the beginnings if not the entirety of dinner for the family. For at least a year. Five times a week. And don’t think I got a pass on dinner-duty throughout the weekends.
That’s not to say my offerings were always a success. I’m still teased about the time I misunderstood the “t” notation in a recipe and produced something with approximately three times the necessary salt. Or the time I turned the oven temperature dial but not the on-off dial. But those and many other failures eventually produced an adult who can, most days, assemble with a great deal of speed and not much fuss something that’s nutritious, attractive and palatable to all but the pickiest of my little eaters, who is, as you might imagine, the eldest.
She is also the most resistant to change, so when I told her of my scheme I expected a very great demonstration of angst. She did not disappoint; in asking her to find a suitable pot with which to boil water I effectively ruined her life. In demanding that she snap the green beans I was the cause of an almost broken finger. And it all, all of it, everything served to upset the calm she seeks to cultivate in the pursuit of such soothing-to-her activities as reading a book while cuddling the cat while listening to Taylor Swift, or scootering while listening to Taylor Swift, or gazing off into the distance while listening to Taylor Swift.
But I am nothing if not a dreadful witch and the destroyer of every joy my children might find1 and I will not relent in this pre-teen’s education. We’ve already tackled scrambled eggs, hard-boiled eggs, bacon2, biscuits and muffins from a mix, fresh fruit salad, pasta and lettuce-based salads. Additionally all of the little darlings can help themselves to the makings of a decent breakfast — yogurt, toast, cereal, fruit, milk — as well as sandwich fixings for lunch.
In other words, I could be stretched out cold on the living room floor with the cats eating my face and my offspring would not starve. This is a start, right?
Why I bet with a little dedication by the end of the summer I can have them trained as follows: A cooling selection of fruits, meats and cheeses will be artfully arranged upon a platter by the eldest child while I lounge upon the porch with a book in one hand and in the other a sparkling beverage prepared by the middle child. Palm-frond fanning will be supplied by the youngest child.
Anyone want to join me?
- Ask them, sometime, about how I force them to maintain clear pathways between door and bed! Or about my demands that wet towels be hung up rather than stuffed into drawers! Or about the rule that sheets must be laundered at least quarterly! [↩]
- In the oven, which is to my mind the only civilized way to make it [↩]
I absolutely agree on the oven being the ONLY place to ever cook bacon. The first time my husband saw me doing it he wondered if I was insane – it only took one time to convert him.
I know! It’s so flat! And splatter-free!
And you can do it naked! As someone who has suffered many bacon-grease boob burns, I appreciate that!
You’d think the very first one would have taught you the lesson. :)
And it comes out so perfectly crisp and yet not burned!
If ever I become a mother, I want to be one Just Like You.
Unless, of course, you’re just delusional. In which case I DEFINITELY want to be a mother just like you. It’s probably easier.
I guess it depends on who you ask. :)
I only learned about cooking bacon in the oven a year ago. While it is much slower, it is also easier and uh…..you can cook more bacon at a time :P WINWIN!
That’s about when I learned it too. Everyone I show it to is dubious, but then deliciousflat bacon emerges and they are converted.
I thought you said writing fiction wasn’t your thing?
It is a comfort to know for certain now that I am not the only terribly mean parent permanently wrecking my child’s life by making cruel and unusual demands about room cleaning and meal preparation.
You’re not alone. My eldest is six and he already (while protesting that ‘this is the worst day of the year’ and ‘his life is over’) is responsible for keeping his room reasonably clean and knows how to do simple things in the kitchen.
The funny thing about that — and about overdramatic children in general when they bemoan their lot — is how they have no idea the extent to which it’s all downhill from there in the unpleasant duties department.
Heh, the unpleasant duties department. Yeah. I get that.
Think about a small garden. If you don’t have the space or soil, try a dozen, five-gallon buckets. Mine took much more interest in cooking once they had grown a tomato or two and a few beans. Foodstuffs were no longer an abstraction, bought at the supermarket and arranged in a ccoking pot/on a plate.
Bravo girl for teaching your kids how to cook. Mom never did that with me. I was magicially suppose to know how to cook when she left on a trip and I was to take care of the family. I tackled bacon and added oil to the pan which turned into a deep frying experience that I am still riddiculed about.
Now I am a baking and cooking fiend in the kitchen that can shell out tasty meals faster then Rachel Ray’s 30 min meals. And to this I can attest my mother had no hand in cultivating but my children will learn the basics atleast!
Great job! Please keep ruining their lives. And please keep teaching how to cook. Do they even have Home Ec in schools anymore, or did that get cut along with Drama, Music, and Art? So important for the boys to learn, especially. There is NOTHING sexier than a man who can cook. Yum.
My mom taught me how to cook for myself at 9 – ramen, mac and cheese, etc. And by 12 I was required to cook for the family at least once a night. I didn’t like the cooking for the family bit since I had to adhere to such nutritional guidelines of always serving a vegetable and a protein source. Not to mention the quantities because my 6’4″ 250 lb step dad ate a LOT. But it was good practice and I love cooking. When I was a kid I actually dreamed of being a chef.
Oddly enough at my dad’s I wasn’t even allowed to turn on the stove until I was in high school.
Also, I know nothing of this cooking bacon in the oven thing. I will have to look into it. Does it work as well with turkey bacon?
My mother raised four boys and taught all of us how to cook, clean house, iron and sew. Form age eleven on, each of us was required to cook the entire meal one night a week. Meals were always supposed to have at least one protein dish, one green vegetable and some kind of a dessert. To teach us how to sew, when in the ninth grade, wach of us had to make a short sleeved oxford cloth button-down collared shirt and wear it to school! That was the scariest part. You know how terrible kids can be if they spot a flaw. Now that I am transgendered, I am so glad that I can easily knock out my own clothing, or perform any necessary alterations to off-the-rack items.
You know what else you can do while listening to Taylor Swift? Cook dinner! Learning to cook is essential. I’ve got a friend who has recently gotten separated from his wife and the learning process is so much sadder when one is over 30.
If it were my offspring I’d be afraid that while I lounged on the porch with that book some dreadful new catastrophe would be brewing inside the house unbeknownst to me. :p
Made me chuckle. This is my oldest daughter to a T. You can both do it! I’m cheering for you.