Emeril… be afraid, be VERY afraid…
January 6, 2006
My son M has got his eyes on your culinary throne.
Believe it.
Tonight was M’s first night cooking the family a meal. We were gifted (by Santa) with a cookbook by Rachael Ray called Cooking Rocks! 30 Minute Meals for Kids. I told M that it would be kind of cool if he picked out something in this book he’d like to try to cook this week.
A meal cooked by my kid, if you will. I’m down with that. Wouldn’t you be?
M has been my finickiest eater. It has been just recently (within the past year) that he has even attempted to try anything new to eat. Not to mention (but you know I will) that he is my most vocal opponent when it comes to meals. He’s one of those kids that has to have his food separated on his plate. Nothing can touch. Those partitioned plates were made for him, I swear. Everything has to be covered in BBQ sauce. It’s just how he is.
So back to His Vocalness. Before a morsel of food touches his lips, he generally has a lot to say about what I’m cooking for dinner. LOUDLY and FREQUENTLY. It starts with “What’s that smell? It smells funny, mom.” and ends with some of the funniest barf faces he can make (which is many) at the table. There have been many nights that I think hubby and I, while being completely grossed out and pissed off at M for his dinner table antics; are secretly supressing a laugh that would rock the house if we would only let it out. It’s never a dull moment, and in the process, he manages to freak out his younger brother so much that now R is copping attitude when it comes to dinner. I tell you, if he could, R would subsist only on Cheetos if given the green light. Say, maybe I should warn Britney Spears about him…. nah… She’s probably got him beat.
Still…
So tonight was M’s turn to cook. He chose a relatively easy dish that should be acceptable to everyone (anything would be acceptable to me that didn’t say Lunchable on it, M’s original dinner request). Pasta with Trees. Pasta, Broccoli, Olive Oil, Butter and Parmesean Cheese. No lie, those are the ingredients. There is like maybe five steps to cooking this, and boiling water is one of them.
M was a little hesitant about being near the oven; I suppose he really did pay attention when I yelled for him to stay out of the kitchen so he didn’t get burned by the oven. I didn’t think that lesson had really stuck. Wow… Anyway, I digress. He carefully measured things out, and with my small assistance put it together. He wasn’t thrilled when the broccoli mixed with the cheese and then the pasta, but he promised me he’d try it anyway.
I was so proud of him for that. That was huge.
I spooned some into a bowl for R, and brought it out to the “baby table” (read: our coffee table in front of the big screen TV. This is the impetus for another post, trust me. It’s coming.). R took one look at it, and immediately refused to eat it. Then he started to do the yuck faces his brother taught him.
I suppressed a laugh that would have shaken your house.
From the kitchen, I could hear M say “He’d better eat it, I made it, and he’s not being very nice.”
Of course, being a mom, I had to “enlighten” my son on the irony of this moment, and that this is exactly what he does to me many nights when I make dinner.
You know what he said?
“Mom, I won’t do that again. It’s not nice and it hurts my feelings.”
I could almost see the light bulb click on above his head.
Almost.
We’ll see what happens next time I’m cooking. Which should be soon.
P.S. About M’s dinner. It was really good! He was so proud of himself, and I kept telling him how delicious it was and how proud I was that he had cooked his family a meal. We even have leftovers for Daddy when he comes back from his business trip in Albany. He’s excited to do this next week.
(M cooking another meal. Daddy doesn’t know about the leftovers yet… okay maybe now he does.)
I’m excited for M too. He’s gonna be making 5 course meals in no time!
He’s on his way, Emeril. Watch out!
