The last time this happened, I beamed with pride at the fact that I had a kid that could just dig in and whip something up that was both nutritious and edible. No holds barred, no cookbooks opened.
This time I was in awe as I watched her mind whirling as she selected among our CSA choices of parsley or dill, chard or spinach, beets or squash; as she scouted in the freezer for just the right type of sausage; and, as she weighed the merits of fresh goat’s cheese against the natural match of cheddar and Mexican-style chorizo. Her reasoned selections all came together in a stuffed poblano chile that Dad gets to eat for lunch tomorrow.
My reward came along the way as I picked up on hints of my influence as she flitted between fridge, butcher block, knife magnet and gas burner.
“Can I suck on one of the chicken stock ice cubes in the freezer for a snack, Mom?”
“Bacon is just the best meat there is!”
As an overworked culinary-obsessed mother, it was one of those afternoons that made my effort to put a good meal made from real food on the table as many nights as womanly possible, just that much more worth it.