Raising a cook...

It's dinner time on a Friday evening at the end of the previously mentioned long, long week. (And there's almost nothing in my fridge, which even so, is still fuller than most people's- yes, I'm talking about you, Grandma P. & Auntie Mich!) Anywho, what to make? Breakfast for dinner, of course! After conferring with my sous-chef, who's already on her step-ladder, we decide upon eggs scrambled with goat cheese, chicken apple sausages, and sourdough toast. The triumph of the evening (I am so proud...) is that Munch cracked all the eggs herself- with not a shell (or finger) pierced yolk in the bunch! (We've been working on the whole "open-the-eggshell, don't smoosh it" technique every time we make pancakes or a batch of cookies.)

I am so glad to have someone who enjoys hanging out in the kitchen as much as I do (having failed in my attempts to interest AudioDad in anything remotely culinary- unlike Munch & me, he's of the "eat to live, food is fuel" mindset, but that's a topic for another post...) Munch loves to stand at the counter, flipping through the pages of her own photo-filled cookbook, just like she sees me do. We recently spent a morning identifying the various kitchen tools pictured in the book and what they do- "whisk is for mixing", she says. She knows muffin tins, rolling pins, wooden spoons, and rubber spatulas, but a sieve and a grater left her puzzled, so out they came for a little hands-on exploration:


She grated a cheese stick, sifted some powdered sugar, and smooshed the whole lot together for an impromptu snack: "Can I taste it now?"
Sure, pumpkin, have at it!