My 6th grade son is currently taking a Foods and Nutrition class at school, and now thinks he is the next Bobby Flay. The only things they’ve learned how to make so far are chocolate chip cookies and orange smoothies, but he is certain he is ready to make a pan seared trout with mushroom risotto. Other than the added chaos and mess in the kitchen, his culinary interest has been a fabulous development for me, as he is desperate to make dinner as often as possible. I detest making dinner, so I gleefully say “Go for it, dude!” The added amount of cleanup and dishes in the kitchen is worth it for me not to have to make another meal that everyone complains about.
He has been crafting weekly menus and looking up new recipes to try. He has started a Pinterest account and pins meal ideas. He watches the Food Network more than he plays Minecraft. He talks about knife cuts and flavor palettes.
Last night he made some sort of barbeque beef biscuit concoction for dinner. I thought it was very tasty, unfortunately, not all in the family felt that way. Apparently he was feeling that his efforts were unappreciated. The following statements comprised the repeating soundtrack to our evening:
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