Cooking With Kids – Who’s Schooling Whom?

I convinced my teen son to help me cook dinner the other night. (A little TV bribery was all it took.) Aside from the time they kabitzed on our worlds best hamburger recipe, cooking with kids in my house usually means me telling them what to do. I don't mind. There's a reason why I cook.

But this time I wanted to raise the stakes, and not only tell my son what to do, but why. I wanted my son to start thinking like a chef, to be comfortable altering recipes, to see what it’s like to put a meal together from scratch.

Little did I know, he and his sister would be schooling me.

“What can I do?” he asked.
We were making asparagus pasta, risotto style.
“Chop an onion,” I said.
“Onions make me cry,” he said. “You do that. What’s the next step?”

Okay then.

I figured he’s chopped plenty of onions in his day. He’s doesn't quite have the onion chopping prowess of Julia Child in Julie and Julia, but he’s certainly capable. I didn’t mind him passing on the onion task.

“Melt 3 tablespoons of butter in the frying pan,” I said.

He cut off a chunk from a stick of butter and dropped it in the pan. I finished chopping the onion, then brought the chopped onion over to dump in the pan. The butter had barely started melting.

“Can you break up that big chunk of butter so it will melt faster?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “I’m watching it dance around the pan.”

Anyone who remembers the movie American Beauty, and the video of the plastic bag blowing around, can certainly appreciate that my son was finding beauty and life in an inanimate object. But I had onions to sautee.

I dumped the onions in, even though his butter wasn’t melted. You can imagine how that went over.

I instructed my son on cooking the pasta, mixing in warm chicken broth, adding the asparagus, doing things at five minute intervals. He waved me off and took over. Fine. I went about making bruschetta: fresh tomatoes, garlic, salt, pepper, basil.

My daughter floated into the kitchen. “Don’t put in too much garlic,” she said.
“I won’t,” I said.
“But you always do.”
“I’m making this late. The flavors won’t have time to meld. It will be fine.”
She shook her head. “One clove, no more. And be sure to use fresh basil.” She’s half Italian, so she gets the real deal from her mom’s house.

“I don’t have fresh basil,” I said.
She heaved a sigh and shook her head. “Here, I’ll make it.”

Some cooking lesson I was giving.

With both of my kids preparing dishes, I figured I might as well shake myself a cocktail. My margarita recipe is to die for.

“Can I make your margarita?” my son asked.
“No, you’re too young,” I said.
“I already know how.”

Great. But I wouldn’t be swayed.

I started by rinsing the rim of the glass under running water, so I could dunk the rim in a container of margarita salt, and the salt would stick.

“That’s not how you do it,” my son said. “You’ll end up with salt inside the glass. You need to run a wet towel around the rim, instead.”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“I watched them make margaritas at the Mexican restauarant.”

We’d sat at the bar of the Mexican restaurant plenty of times, eating while watching soccer on TV, usually when the restaurant was fairly empty. (I once hit on a woman in front of my son at that Mexican restaurant bar. It wasn't easy.)

I followed my son’s instruction, and wouldn’t you know, the rim salted perfectly.

Okay, so maybe I had nothing to teach my kids in the kitchen this particular night. Next time I’ll make something more complicated, like chicken and dumplings, and really show them the ropes.

Then again, the asparagus pasta and bruschetta came out pretty good. Maybe I should let my kids cook every night. We might start eating better.

Kissing and Cooking - Which Really Lasts?

Remember the old adage: Kissing don’t last, cookery do! The intent of the message was that men (back in the day) did well to marry a sturdy woman who knew her way around the kitchen. If he married a woman for looks (and kisses), the love would fade over time and wouldn’t sustain him. Good cooking, on the other hand, lasted a lifetime.

To which I say hogwash. And not just because of the sexist connotations that women should cook for their men.

As a man who was married for ten years and divorced just as long, I can tell you, the kissing and cooking adage is crap.

Cooking doesn’t necessarily last in a marriage. I cooked plenty in the early years of my marriage. And during that last year before my wife and divorced, she wasn't cooking up a storm. She and I were in avoidance mode. I’d go to work early and she’d stay at work late. And guess who cooked dinner? Moi. (I also cooked some amount in the early days of our marriage.)

They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. To which I say – who cares? Now that I’m divorced, I cook for myself almost every night. Whether I’m making my mom’s chicken and dumplings recipe, grilling a salmon, cooking swiss chard, or cooking beets. I’ve learned my way around the kitchen, by necessity.

Divorce will do that, especially when you’re a single dad raising kids. You can’t eat out every night.

As for the kissing not lasting? Sadly, that part of the adage was true for me. The kissing (and sex) fell to the wayside at the end of my marriage, and have proven hard to replace. I’ve had girlfriends post-divorce, and I’ve enjoyed my share of hook-ups and one-night stands. But daily hugs and kisses have proven a thing of the past. And hugs and kisses and spooning are some of the things I miss the most.

(Props to any married couple that has kept the love and sex and kisses and hugs alive throughout the years. And if you're married and not doing that? You should!!!!)

So next time I find a woman to be my partner and join me in my home, I’m going to toss that old adage out the window. I want kissing that will last. As for the cooking – I’ll just keep on doing it myself.


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Why I Cook

I'm divorced, a single dad with half-time custody, and I've been running a household solo for nearly ten years. I figured learning how to cook was a necessity. I had a bit of a head-start, since my ex was Italian and from a family of great cooks. I learned the ins and outs of la cucina italiana directly from the source. (You don't throw spaghetti on the wall to see if it's done!) My Italian-style carrots that I learned from them are to die for. My ex-mother-in-law also taught me how to cook beets, plus a zillion different ways to serve pasta.

One single buddy of mine won't cook on a nightly basis. He'll heat up a can of chili, or microwave some Lean Cuisine, but most often he'll take his hard-earned cash and go spend it in a restaurant.

Nothing wrong with that, I suppose, if you have the money. But there's more to cooking for yourself than saving a buck.

First off, it can be healthier to cook for yourself. I get to pick the ingredients, so I know they are healthy and fresh. I can also cut back on butter and salt (important for an aging dad like me.) Plus, some dishes like my marinated grilled asparagus recipe are awesome, and not something I find in many restaurants.

Second, it doesn't have to take very long. I can cook most meals in 30 minutes flat. Heading out to a restaurant takes longer than that. (My grilled chicken marinade recipe needs to be prepped hours in advance; needless to say, I don't cook it every night!) And in those 30 minutes, I can enjoy the cocktail of my choice. Whether that's the best margarita recipe or mai tai recipe depends on my mood, and doesn't cost me ten bucks a pop!

Third, it's a grounding experience. (This part gets touchy-feely, I suppose. I'm in NorCal, baby!) I feel connected to the earth, and to the farmers and suppliers, and to my kids who I cook for. It feels good to create a meal for them. It's nurturing. I get this feeling whether I'm grilling salmon at the BBQ, or cooking chicken and dumplings at the stove.

When I asked my single buddy why he doesn't cook, he said - "I'll cook for company. But it's just not worth the effort to cook for myself."

To which I said - "you're saying you're not worth it?"

Cook. It's good for you.

And if I didn't give you enough recipe pointers here, go buy a cookbook!