Monday, July 4, 2011

My Son, the Chef

Wife just left this visit her grandparents for a week and a half. Neighbors have been offering to look in after us, just to make sure that we'd be OK. My wife thanks them but assures them that her husband can look after himself. Food wise. After all, when I grew up, my mother had a policy: if you want it, make it yourself. (She cooked, of course, but didn't mind the help as we grew up.) So I did.
This morning, I woke up at 3:30am to take wife and two kids to the airport. Worked the whole day, and stumbled into the house at 5pm. Dinner? Hadn't given it a second thought. Or a first.
Happily, my 14-year-old had it taken care of. He sent the nine-year-old to the makolet for a package of mushrooms, and proceeded to make a delicious sweet potato mushroom soup that he found in the Kosher Soup cookbook. He said that it sounded good. He was right. Then he made garlic bread from a recipe that he found in the Betty Crocker cookbook. I fell asleep. Daughter woke me up an hour later telling me, "Abba, dinner." Sweet.
Good job, Simcha.

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