For as long as I can remember, I have always had a love affair with food. Eating it, preparing it, talking about it, reading about it...even daydreaming about it.
When I was young, I would delight in having the opportunity to assist my parents in the kitchen, and some of my earliest memories are of standing by their sides just waiting for the chance to "help." Gradually, I was able to assume more responsibility as I demonstrated my aptitude, and eventually I was able to take over the Saturday morning ritual of making pancakes for breakfast. When I got a bit older, I would ride my bike to the library and borrow Cooking with Regis and Kathie Lee, a tome which guided me through my first solo adventures in the sweet (fudge) and savory (baked beans). As I accumulated more knowledge and experience, so too did my confidence grow, and by the time I was a freshman in high school, I was making apple pies from scratch; any baker will tell you toiling with pie crust dough is not for the faint of heart, but I mastered it and enjoyed it. Being adept in the kitchen wasn't just a matter of practicality as far as I was concerned, but it was also one of creativity and passion. In my family, food was undoubtedly love, just as it is in so many other families. For me, it became something more. Food was science. Food was art. Food was fun.
Fast forward to life as a stay-at-home mom. These days, it is very easy to allow food to become just another chore. Amidst diaper changes, temper tantrums, playground visits, books, rounds of hide and seek, naps, and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, often food is reduced to just a matter of sustenance, not one of creativity or enjoyment. Meal preparation usually takes three to four times longer than it normally would because there is a tiny little human demanding my attention. Peruse, if you will, the following exchange; something like this can be heard each and every morning between the hours of 6 a.m. and 8 a.m. in our house:
Sofia: "Baby hungry."
Me: "Okay, honey. What would you like to eat?"
Sofia: "Mommy hold you."
Me: "Okay, honey. But aren't you hungry?"
Sofia: "No. Mommy hold you."
Me: "Okay."
Sofia: (after being picked up) "Baby hungry."
Me: "Okay, honey. What would you like to eat?"
Sofia: "Baby want pancake."
Me: "Okay, honey. But to make pancakes, Mommy has to set you down."
Sofia: "Noooooo!"
Me: "Okay. What would you like to eat instead of a pancake?"
Sofia: "Baby want pancake."
Me: "Mommy can make pancakes for you, but I have to set you down. I need to use
both hands to make the pancakes."
Sofia: "Noooooo!"
Well, you get the idea. The exchange could go on indefinitely. How to save my sanity? Make the toddler my sous chef!
As sous chef de cuisine in my kitchen, Sofia's job duties consist of dumping and stirring. For pancakes, she will dump the ingredients into the bowl after I have measured them out and then will stir them as she sits on the kitchen floor, bowl cradled on her lap. For guacamole, she will dump the ingredients into the bowl after I have chopped them and then will mix them. For anything, she is always available for taste-testing, just like her daddy.
Sure, this new approach is even more time-consuming and labor intensive than just breaking every couple of minutes to attempt to distract/occupy/pacify/amuse Sofia while preparing a meal on my own, but where is the fun in that? With my sous chef by my side, I can usually make dinner with very little frustration and no tears - two ingredients that really aren't called for in any of my recipes. The relationship I am cultivating with her in the kitchen reminds me of my own childhood and makes me hopeful that Sofia will grow up with an appreciation for cooking and creativity, too. Seeing the pride on her face as she "helps" is such a reward, and hearing her tell her daddy how she contributed to the meal ("Daddy, I dumped the onions! I stirred soup!") is just darling. And aside from all of these wonderful perks is one that I couldn't have anticipated. Because she is often involved in meal preparation, Sofia already seems to have some investment in eating beyond her usual interest; she has some ownership in the meal, and with that ownership comes a willingness to eat things she might normally refuse. Win-win!
I'm already looking forward to taking her to the library to borrow her first cookbook. And you better believe it'll be one with a fudge recipe in it.
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