Kicked Out of the Kitchen

August 10th, 2010 § 3

“Remember if you are alone in the kitchen, who is going to see you?” ~ Julia Child

Not all TV is bad. After what I experienced tonight, I would say to those without one: Get thyself to a Best Buy.

The twins are way into the Food Network—it’s the only thing they watch. While I fail to see the entertainment value, my stomach has reaped the rewards.

Today 12-year-old Emma and her friend, Tori, spent all afternoon in the kitchen. That was after a giggle-filled trip to the grocery store. I handed them a wad of cash and sat in the car with a book while they shopped. And then I was banned from the heart of our home—all day. I was forced to take a nap. Hurt me.

Never mind that it took them six hours to prepare this evening’s meal. That happens when one has to pause over a mixing bowl to explain to an imaginary audience what’s being done, ingredient by ingredient, like Giada or the Contessa.

I enjoyed my Mediterranean chicken, stuffed with feta cheese and olives, over a bed of fresh spinach and capers and tomatoes, like I’ve never enjoyed anything that has come out of my kitchen.  As I type, cream is being whipped to go with the blackberry swirl pound cake the girls baked. If I had a tail, it would be wagging.

The kids have cooked before—pancakes, pigs in a blanket, even a pot of chili. But all this sautéing and whisking and chopping is without precedent. And there were no questions—that’s the part that truly amazes. I had blocked out my entire afternoon for a perfect storm of inquiries. None came.

I see a future bright with teenage girls concocting things for us to eat. With ease and grace and flair, just like tonight. Where are the kitchen disasters of youth? When I was little, I got up before dawn one Sunday to surprise my folks with a cake, freshly made with love and molasses and Lucky Charms. After service, everyone smiled as they bit into the brick that was my first culinary effort.

And then there was the giant porcelain bowl I put on the stove in order to soften butter for cookies. I learned the hard way that things can explode before one’s eyes. Things have been exploding, if not literally, ever since. Last fall, we were salivating over a pumpkin bread filling the house with the scent of spice one morning. Something can smell good even when its maker forgets to add sugar. Ugh.

Maybe the twins are going to skip that stage. But then, who really does? Isn’t everyone entitled to a few epicurean disasters, just so they can tell a story? And so when things come out, the victory is all the sweeter.

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