My son is proud of his cooking skills. He can make simple meals and bake cookies from scratch, and has said several times that when he goes to college he won’t go broke ordering pizzas. I have pointed out there are cafeterias, but he waves that away and it is beside the point; he wants to be able to feed himself.
So yesterday I was making Crock-Nutty Chicken out of one of my favorite cookbooks, Saving Dinner, and recruited him to help me with the second sauce. It required 1 tablespoon of butter, melted. He took the whole set of clipped-together plastic measuring spoons, filled the tablespoon with margarine and headed to the microwave.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said, which is a milder version of what I was thinking. He dismissed my concern and I let him have at the learning experience. Shortly after there was the telltale “pop” sound, and I laughed hard and silently.
“Stop laughing,” he said, grinning a bit himself.
“Is there any on the ceiling?” I asked. He insisted not. I pointed out the cup that would have been useful for the margarine also would help with the honey he needed, which had crystallized a bit. Dismissing that too, he preferred to stir vigorously, although he muttered a little along the way.
I could have done without his help, just like I won’t need my daughter’s to prepare the marinade I’ll need for tomorrow’s Grilled Asian Chicken. But I don’t want to send my children out into the world unprepared, and I refuse to be the only one in the house doing any cooking when everyone eats. (Note to husband: Grilling is lovely, but not the same.) The bonding is nice, too.
The humor factor, well, that’s a bonus.
This post originally appeared on ourMidland.com, the online home of the Midland (MI) Daily News. Republished with permission.