Cooking with Children, The Graphic Novel
Part I: Ugly Pie
Those who know me know I hate to cook. I say it’s because I have better things to do, but it might just be that I suck at it.
My sister can cook a gorgeous Christmas dinner for 12 in heels, diamonds and a crisp apron that never seems to get soiled. I can cook chili in my pajamas and still ruin it and nearly burn the kitchen down.
Still, I come by kitchen ineptitude honestly. When I was a child, and my mother had to cook, which was as infrequently as humanly possible, she would throw an illogical collection of food objects into a crock pot as quickly as possible and yet still end up screaming and collapsing in a chair with a glass of wine within minutes.
My birthday is next week. What I want more than anything is a personal chef for life. But since I haven’t been gifted one yet, I’ve been making attempts to grow my own.
Chicken Little was born with a good dose of Martha Stewart in her, something she must’ve inherited from my sister (can that happen?). That kid loves to cook and clean. So of course I enlisted her to help me tidy the house and cook two pies a few days ago for this dinner party I was throwing (Book club. Apparently I’m only willing to cook when there’s a literary payoff).
She loves this entertaining stuff, but she’s still also six years old. Henceforth, antics ensue. A few scenes from pie making day:
“Mom, let’s make the pie! Mom, let’s make the pie! Mom, let’s make the pie!” (She boings around the kitchen like Tigger as I haul ingredients out of long forgotten crannies of my kitchen, trying to remember how in the hell one exactly makes a pie).
“Mom, I’m just going to eat a little tiny bit more” (She stuffs berries in her mouth).
“Mom, I can totally do that” (Sugar hits the floor).
“Mom, you’re not letting me do anything!” (She grabs the fork from my hand and makes “patterns” all over the top of the pie).
“It’s cooking with children!” (She says, repeating something I’d just mumbled. Then she laughs maniacally and throws a fistful of flour in the air before landing two perfect white hand prints on the front of my shirt).
Two hours later, Little and I had indeed produced two pies, albeit the ugliest pies ever created. The kitchen was covered flour, sugar, pie dough and strawberry juice.
I spent an hour cleaning up and decided to leave the rest of the party prep for the next day. One can only do so much, I self-consoled, and poured myself a large glass of wine.
I can only hope that all of this experimental theatre will mean that one day Little will have far superseded my culinary skills, and yet will think fondly back on those long-ago days when I was willing to ‘teach’ her to cook, and therefore will prepare me meals on a regular basis.
Stay tuned for tomorrow’s installation of Cooking With Children, The Graphic Novel, in which mommy sets fire to the kitchen.
