A few weeks ago, I had the following conversation with Kendrick.
Me (holding out potato): “Babe? Could you peel this potato for me?”
Kendrick (looking at potato as if it is UFO): “…How?”
Me (incredulous stare): “How…do…what?”
Kendrick (as if this makes perfect sense): “How do I peel it?”
OK. So we’ve established that the boy legitimately cannot cook. I love him very, very much, but after the brief tutorial in potato-peeling, I more or less banned him from the kitchen (he’s excellent with the cleaning, and I think that’s a nice division of labor).
But last night I had a bit of a fever (I’ve been under the weather for the past couple of days), and so Kendrick suggested that he give cooking a go. I sent him a list of ingredients for my mom’s pineapple chicken (a pretty basic and very delicious stir-fry), and he came home with…well…most of them. He got the pineapple, and the chicken, but unfortunately the store was out of snow peas (my replacement for my mom’s green peppers, and the ingredient that would have given the dish its color), so it ended up looking a little…brown. He also purchased a packet of Thai seasoning for some unknown reason.
No matter, though: the dish ended up tasting quite good, and just look how proud he was of himself:
Seriously, though, I think this was quite awesome of Kendrick. He doesn’t have a natural interest in cooking, but wanted to try doing something that means a lot to me…and whether he admits it or not, I think he actually had fun. And to me, that’s the whole point of cooking: having fun, and maybe making something at least vaguely edible while you’re at it.
