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Shrimp and veggie fried Rice. I own and use a wok.
I really enjoy cooking. It’s perhaps my favorite of all domestic duties. I enjoy the creatve side of it and I love the response that can be illicited from serving a tasty homecooked meal. For the most part I think I am a good cook, sometimes I am my toughest critic and I ofen require a second set of tastebuds to verify that my latest masterpiece is indeed a viable option for satisfying a robust appetite. Everything isn’t always perfect but I am confident that I can prepare one or two or ten decent meals.
Greens. Pretty good for a girl from Jamaica.
As hard as I am on myself, my sons who will be 8 and 6 on December 29 and December 30, respectively are the WORST. They are giving me cooking low self esteem. Our conversations at dinner and or lunch sound like “Just try it.” “No, I don’t want it.” “Just give it a chance, if you don’t like it you don’t have to eat it.” “I already tried it, I don’t want it. Can I have some cereal?” Or “What’s this green stuff?” “It’s seasoning.” “Can you take it off my plate mommy?” Exasperated I say “No, move it to the side of your plate” and depending on the day I may oblige and make a grilled cheese sandwich but only for the soon-to-be six year old because the soon-to-be eight year old hates bread and will only eat cheese on pizza or if it’s hidden in scrambled eggs or an omelet.
Chicken Lasagna. Thanks cousin Mich for the recipe.
I’ve consulted with friends who reassure me, “They are young, they don’t know anything.” But to his credit the almost eight year old is a better eater than his younger sibling so when he says “Mommy your food is good”, I believe him and when both of them agree that I’ve done particularly welll in the kitchen despite preparing a meal sans macaroni and cheese or rice and green peas I feel accomplished. Then, I get motivated to try again. But in the meantime I cant cook for them , I cook for me and hopefully somewhere in that process I will expand their little tastebuds.
Mmmm....Mmmmm....Good
I recieved one of the greatest compliments a 7 year old boy could bestow upon a DivaMom. My son said my baked barbecue chicken tasted, “Better than McDonald’s”. I kid you not! I have often fantasized about that day and it has arrived. Halelujah!
He sounded a bit hoarse when I picked him up from camp yesterday. For dinner last night we had homemade chicken soup. While seated at the table he looked at me with pleading eyes, and I said, “What? You want to drink it from the bowl?” He nodded. I consented. He said his throat felt much better. I smiled.
Before
Of all household chores cooking is my favorite. I enjoy the creative process from begining with an idea of what I’d like to prepare to selecting ingredients then chopping and seasoning, lighting a fire and ultimately setting the table. I imagine various combinations of textures and flavors and derive immense pleasure from creating a new or variation of a preexisting recipe. My meals turn out best when I cook with my heart rather than my head. Simplystated: I dont give the process too much thought I simply do what I feel moved to do. Even more delightful than preparing a meal is the knowledge that those who have eaten it found it tasty and satisfying.
After
In grateful appreciation for their assitance during my time of need I recently prepared Sunday dinner for two gentlemen. It was my pleasure, my heart was filled as they reached for seconds. Conversation during dinner was limited and when my seven year old questioned the silence he was informed “Everyone is eating.” They ate and I was happy. Happy enough to do it again just because I like it.
W. Reid
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