Cooking With Ethan

I spent the entire day yesterday cooking. Last weekend, I spent the entirety of Saturday baking. I’m pretty tired of washing dishes.  But I’ve discovered the joy of cooking with my stepson.

He says he wants to be a chef when he grows up. (I remember that at eleven I wanted to be a Marine biologist. At eight, I’d written Woods Hole a letter as to what I’d need to get admitted to their program.  I didn’t lose that desire until I got my first C in high school biology, and I stumbled across foreign languages.)   At the very least, cooking skills will ensure that Ethan can feed himself for the rest of his life. I posit that it will do him justice when he’s dating, too.

It’s sometimes hard to remember that cooking is a learned skill, and that someone had to teach us how to do stuff at some point along the way.  I enjoy teaching him the little tricks – like how to separate egg yolks from whites – and the techniques that I know like I’m tying my shoes.

Teaching it is almost like rediscovering it.

Anyone want anything to eat?


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