The Other Cook

Tonight, I grilled up the other steaks I had on hand from our Costco trip. They were equally good, and the leftover potatoes warmed nicely alongside them on the grill in a foil pouch (with a pinch more cheddar to compensate for what I knew would stick to the foil). The wine was better, and while it was chilly, it was a pleasant night in front of the grill.

But the real treat wasn't the dinner tonight. It was our other cook. When I grilled over the weekend, our daughter lined up an array of mixing bowls to "cook dinner" while I was outside. Tonight, she "cooked" while my wife and I sat down to eat. She used a straw to mix, and had a variety of bowls, cups, and spoons on hand to concoct her imaginary meal. The result was some "coffee" for mommy, served in a plastic jug with a straw.

I was lucky enough to spend most of my childhood living in a home where dinner was cooked most nights, and the norm was for us to gather for our meal together. I don't think I fully appreciated the effort that my various caregivers put into those meals at the time, and I know I didn't always appreciate the end results. (My cousins will all attest to the misery of some of the worst pea soup ever served!) In hindsight, I am deeply grateful for those meals, and for that effort.

I want my daughter to appreciate the love that goes into a home cooked meal, and I think we are on the right track.