First Steps: When Children Begin to Cook

[lindag]

I wanted nothing to do with anything happening in the kitchen as I grew up and my mother allowed it, only making me set the table or peel potatoes and, of course, wash the dishes.

As a result, I knew nothing when I moved into my first apartment.

I remember calling my friend's mom to ask how to make mashed potatoes.

That was for the first meal I ever made to go with a meatloaf.  I'm sure it was dreadful but it made me proud.  After that I ready to learn.

[lindag]

On 3/13/2024 at 6:51 AM, Maison Rustique said:

I was another who had a mother who didn't like help in the kitchen, so if I ever learned anything about cooking from her, it was merely by observing from afar. I married at 18 and my poor ex-husband suffered through a few horrid meals (Hamburger Helper!!!) before someone gifted me a BH&G cookbook. And thankfully, we lived near enough to both families to go home for plenty of meals often. 

The BHG cookbooks were a godsend for me, basically teaching me how to cook as a beginner.

[Katie Meadow]

On 3/13/2024 at 6:05 AM, liuzhou said:

One of my granddaughters first words was 'olive', her favourite food at a very young age.

 

Not something many kids would choose those as a favourite, I guess.

 

She is now the mother of two year old twins, one of whom is following in her culinary footsteps. 

 

But then I've met kids in China whose favourites are things I would never have imagined. Snails and chillies stand out. And durian.

 

 

Strange as it may seem, I know two women who potty trained their toddlers with olives. 

[Katie Meadow]

I had to unlearn several things my mother taught me, although she didn't teach me much. But then she had some strange ideas across the board. I taught myself to cook when living in NM. All of a sudden I was just into it. 

 

To this day I regret not being more flexible and tolerant about cooking with my daughter. So her resistance to my habits was partly being excluded in the first place, and then later, just resistance in general. Now she appreciates my cooking way more, since my husband and I come to visit and shop and cook for her family. With a full-time job, two toddler twins and a food-finicky husband she has a lot going on. There are surprising things her husband just won't touch. Although he will eat very spicy Hunan take out. Long ago I learned it's futile to try and understand food phobias, even mine. Okay, especially mine.

[liuzhou]

Reviving this just to show you one picture which made me inordinately happy. Yet another friend's daughter (who always makes me laugh or smile) went picking vegetables from her Grandma's garden.  So happily proud of her work!

 

 

 

[chromedome]

On 9/2/2024 at 4:07 AM, liuzhou said:

Reviving this just to show you one picture which made me inordinately happy. Yet another friend's daughter (who always makes me laugh or smile) went picking vegetables from her Grandma's garden.  So happily proud of her work!

 

 

 

It's great when the little ones start to take a live interest in it.

 

Right now our grandson (6) is hitting that phase. Asked what he wants at mealtime, he'll usually lead with "healthy stuff" or "veggibles from the garden,' instead of the convenience foods he used to ask for. My stepdaughter is just as mystified as us over this transition, as she hadn't been making any special effort to spur this fixation. Our best guess is that it's just the accumulation of everything he's overheard over the years.

 

The practical outcomes have been interesting. For one thing, he has an unlikely fetish for kale. I've given him carte blanche to help himself to a few leaves straight from the bed, any time he feels like it. A couple of weeks ago he noticed my lacinato kale for the first time (it's a couple of rows away, near the cucumbers, and gasped "Papa! Blue kale!" in tones of awe and delight. Of course he wanted to try it, and was crestfallen that it tasted like the other kind. I explained that the blue kind is more delicate and flavorful when cooked, though there isn't much difference raw.

 

The moment that really made my grandparental heart go pitter-pat was a few weeks ago when I was weeding my herb bed. The little guy asked what each herb was, starting with the mint that I was vigorously culling (I'd planted it in a sunken pot for containment, but had neglected to consider the pot's drainage holes). He tasted his way through two kinds of mint and then sage, cilantro, rosemary, summer savory, thyme, lovage and dill before we were through. That was a proud moment for me, but the highlight came after about the fourth herb. I don't recall exactly how he phrased it, but he said that he needed to take a moment and eat something else because the herbs were all starting to taste the same. So he helped himself to a leaf of kale and munched on that between samples.

He didn't know the term "palate cleanser," but he recognized the necessity and attended to it. Papa was so proud...

[Dejah]

My 8 year old granddaughter loves these noodles, so it was time to learn how to cook them!
She and her older sister (12) also love egg rolls and wontons. They made and Gramma deep fried.
These girls are 1/4 Chinese, one blond, one red-headed!


                                                         

                                                                 

[Shel_B]

I recounted this story to my sister earlier today and just now decided to post it here. Interested to know if anyone's interested in such things, y'know, personal stories and experiences.

 

Back in the early to mid 1950s, Dad and I would often have breakfast together on Sunday mornings. We'd both be up before anyone else in the house, and this was our time. I'd be up before him and watch Victory at Sea on the TV and wait for him to come downstairs.

 

He'd make breakfast for us, often salami and eggs, French toast, or maybe just eggs with potatoes. He'd make his eggs over easy, or what he'd call "Bullseye eggs." I didn't care much for the runny yolk and all the white, and preferred scrambled. We'd sit in the kitchen eating what he cooked, and just talk about whatever came up. School, money, baseball, his business (I was frequently going into work with him on Saturdays or on weekdays during the summer months, so I had both an interest and an understanding about the business, but that's another story).

 

A few times he'd tell me about what he did in the war. Never anything about combat or fighting, but what transpired during downtime or during training. I can still remember him telling me how the guys made French toast (without milk) just using old bread and pilfered eggs, and mixing the eggs in their helmets. Oil or butter for cooking was also sometimes "liberated" but that's what the American army was doing in Europe ... liberating ... liberating the population from fascism and liberating butter from farmers.

 

Those were pretty special mornings for me. Anyway, one morning I decided to make breakfast for dad. I was pretty young, maybe eight years old.  I made salami and eggs, cutting thick slices of Hebrew National from the chub which we usually had in the fridge. I could see, even the first time that I tried it, that the slices were too big to comfortably eat, so I figured out that dicing the slices would be a good way to go.  I fried them up in the skillet and mixed some eggs in a bowl.  I then added the eggs to the salami, which had crisped slightly, and then scrambled the whole thing together.  Dad was very surprised that I made breakfast, and was very complimentary. I really don't know how good a job I did with that breakfast, but dad found no fault. That was his way.

 

And that is my earliest memory of cooking for someone.

 

Edited May 26 by Shel_B (log)

[YvetteMT]

I love stories like this.  I don't recall the first time i actually cooked for someone, it was just something I did.  As a kid, I took on the responsibilities of making dinner at probably 10. I enjoyed doing it, both of my parents worked, so it just happened. 

My earliest recollection of making food was as a tiny tot, maybe 3, with my paternal grandmother. I was stood on a kitchen stool with a paring knife cutting egg noodles. I can still hear her telling me to not cut myself as she didn't want little kids fingers in her noodles.