First Steps: When Children Begin to Cook

[liuzhou]

My trip has been postponed, so I have time to add my own story. Some of this, but not all, I've mentioned on eG in other contexts.

 

My mother was born in France and when she was nine years old Hitler invaded. My grandfather worked for the French government in some mysterious category which I've never understood and nearly the whole family fled as he was almost certain to be shot if found. My mother was the youngest of 13 kids! 5 boys 8 girls. The boys, by then men, were in the army and so remained longer. All the girls other than the eldest left for Britain and relative safety. The eldest lived through the occupation under an assumed name and survived. In fact the whole family survived the war, unlike so many.

 

Once the war was over, most of the family's refugees scattered across the world. I have family on almost every continent. My grandparents returned to France. My mother, one sister and one brother remained in the UK. Now 90, my mother is the only one still alive.

 

Anyway, this is all preamble to cooking. She grew up, from the age of nine in wartime England under strict rationing. Her mother did not allow her to learn to cook. Food was too scarce to be "practised on". If she messed up or burned the dinner, it was all over. You couldn't rush out and buy more. So she never really learned to cook until she moved to Scotland and married my father.

 

He was of a generation or generations of men who wouldn't stoop so low as to cook and to this day I remain half convinced he didn't know our house had a kitchen, or where it was, or what happened there.  Food for him just arrived like storks bringing babies. I doubt he ever thought about it.

So, growing up, food to me was simply fuel. The height of mother's culinary skill was not actively poisoning us. Taste, texture, or appearance did not enter the equation.  Now, please don't think I am slandering my mother in public in any way. She happily admits to being the world's worst cook and a disgrace to her French heritage.

Then, I think it must have been 1959 or 1960, both my parents were struck by a flu epidemic. Real flu. Not a bit of a cold self-pityingly described as flu and, as the eldest offspring, it fell to me to keep my siblings' hunger at bay.  I vividly remember going shopping then running back and forward between the kitchen and my parents' bed room getting mumbled instructions and trying to carry them out.

 

I made a sort of mince and tatties, that Scottish gourmet classic. It was probably overcooked and under seasoned, if seasoned at all. I forget the details. Selective amnesia probably, but no one died. We survived until help arrived in the large shape of my father's ancient, widowed aunt, a terrifying woman who smelled of Victorian Scotland and mothballs.

I still didn't take up cooking properly until years later I met my first girlfriend and her father cooked me a meal that changed my life. He made a simple omelet and for the first time I discovered that food can taste good! It was sublime. As I've mentioned here before,  I still follow his technique meticulously. You could say that I suddenly and simultaneously found that girls had redeeming qualities after all and that food is even more fascinating. 

Edited October 29, 2020 by liuzhou (log)

[Lisa Shock]

How far away do your friends (from the photographs) live? If you can, I humbly suggest that at some point fairly soon, you cook an actual hamburger with Junior. -Just so he knows what a real one is supposed to taste like. (as opposed to most fast food places)

[liuzhou]

2 hours ago, Lisa Shock said:

How far away do your friends (from the photographs) live? If you can, I humbly suggest that at some point fairly soon, you cook an actual hamburger with Junior. -Just so he knows what a real one is supposed to taste like. (as opposed to most fast food places)

 

They live in the provincial capital, Nanning which is an hour and a half train ride away. I will be going there later this week to catch my plane to Vietnam, but won't have time to see them this trip.

Love your suggestion though and will do so at some time in the not too far future.

Edited April 16, 2018 by liuzhou
typo (log)

[Thanks for the Crepes]

My mom died when I was 8, but before then, I "helped" in the kitchen. The first thing I really remember "helping" with was a fruit cocktail cake where you dump a can of fruit cocktail into probably a cake mix. Sneer all you like, but we considered this very good. I remember aspiring to assist in washing dishes since I was a tiny ignorant thing. My mom was a registered nurse, and very wary of pathogens and wanted the dishes washed properly. I was so proud the first time I was allowed to assist! Man, did that get old quickly. 

 

The first thing I remember cooking completely on my own was an herbed Italian chicken dish. After the death of my mom and stepmom shortly after, we were three children living with my single dad who did not deign to enter the kitchen other than to give commands. I had learned to cook simple things like baked potatoes, bacon and eggs and Dad would grill steaks outside over charcoal. 

 

We had an elderly Italian couple, the Politos, across the dirt road we lived on in VT. Leah, the wife, was apparently barren and has always wanted children. Joe, the husband always ran us off if we were hanging around when he got home from work. Leah was our missing mother or maybe grandmother. We helped her with yard work. She taught me a lot of things about cooking and preserving. I remember canning her garden tomatoes in her basement canning kitchen.

 

I remember Leah bringing our family some baked chicken with parsley, basil and oregano she'd grown in her garden. (Us kids helped the old woman with garden chores, too.) The whole family loved this chicken, and I tried to recreate it later. It seemed browned and done, but when we cut into it, it was bloody, so back into the oven it went. It finally came out done and edible, but I remember crying over my initial failure. I also remember even my usually cruel father being tolerant and appreciate of my efforts for a change. I was about ten here.

 

Another memory is when I lived with my grandparents when I was thirteen. I'd left home by then, and my paternal grandparents took me in. By this time, I'd been cooking for my dad and two siblings for a while and when he married my second step mom who came with a son, then I was cooking for six. I got sick of the abusive situation and landed on Grandma's doorstep for a while. I was her favorite.

 

At first, Grandpa did all the cooking because, Grandma, who was the cook in the family, was the victim of a stroke and bedridden. One day, after the big chicken butchering where all the extended family cooperated to slaughter and process about 200 chickens grown on the property, I decided I wanted some good fried chicken. First thing I did was scrub out the kitchen sinks where Grandpa had been spitting his snuff. Well, he immediately started back up fouling the sinks, and I kept scrubbing them out, and gently pointed out the coffee cans, he could use for this purpose. One of my cousins asked why I didn't just forbid him to spit in the sinks. I figured that wasn't my place. I persisted scrubbing and he persisted spitting. I'm not sure if someone else spoke to him, but finally, he quit spitting disgusting brown snuff residue into the sinks.

 

That day, I got a free range chicken out of the deep freeze to thaw. When it came dinner time, I took it upon myself to put some flour, salt and pepper into a plastic bag to shake and coat the chicken. Grandpa was adamant that it wasn't enough flour and that I would fail. It's only because Grandma intervened that I continued on and dropped the coated chicken pieces into a couple of ancient cast iron skillets full of hot oil. Grandpa was amazed, and said I was right, that it was plenty of flour and that more was just a waste.

 

I was the cook and Grandma in Grandpa's kitchen after that day with not much more interest except requests for certain things.

[blbst36]

I don't remember the first thing I made.  I cooked/baked/"helped" all through out my childhood and growing up.  I have pictures of me in my own chef hat and apron at a young age.  I remember making cut out cookies for "Santa".  I remember dumping ingredients in when my mom said to for anything.  I loved being the measurer of items.  When we were older (and my father was actually working), we got home after school and usually had something that needed to be started for dinner.  

 

Cooking was just always there.  To the point that I didn't understand why my friend's mom didn't cook.  They ate take out every night.  No exaggeration.  I didn't know there were people that did that.  There were people that didn't know how to make chocolate chip cookies.  I remember showing her how to do it in either middle or high school.  My mom eventually bought her a Betty Crocker beginner cookbook because she wanted to cook.  Now, she has her own family and cooks all the time.

 

I love reading all of these experiences!!

[chromedome]

I'm pretty sure the first thing I made for myself as a young 'un was porridge for breakfast, almost certainly from rolled oats (though porridge was a staple and we also had Cream of Wheat and the multigrain Red River and Vita-B brands as part of our regular rotation, so it might have been one of those). Frying my own small trout, fresh-caught from the local streams, was almost certainly the second thing.

 

My mom was never fond of cooking, but executed simple, traditional meals well enough. My father was more adventurous - he'd read about something like polenta, and decide to play around with it - but he was at sea a lot when I was young. There were plenty of good cooks and bakers on both sides of my family, but they fell decidedly into the "homestyle traditional" category.

 

My first real look at a more sophisticated approach to food came in 8th grade, when I met my lifelong best friend. His parents were both German, though his father was raised and educated in England during and after the war (they were part-Jewish). His mother was and is an exceptional cook and baker, though much slowed by arthritis, fused spine, hip transplants, scoliosis, etc. Coming from a household where "salad" was shredded iceberg with tomato wedges and bottled dressing, eating something totally left-field like her herring salad was a memorable experience. I also had my first experience of slow-cooked sauerkraut (with multiple pork products) at her house, which remains one of my favorite cold-weather meals and a staple in my house. 

 

My mom always baked bread when I was growing up, so I felt a real imperative to start baking my own when I left home at 15. I'd watched her often enough, so I just bought the ingredients and gave it a go. I knew she put shortening in the warm water before adding the flour, but I couldn't remember how much...so I threw in a cup of it. Let me tell you, that bread was well and truly shortened! It was dense but certainly edible, so after clearing up the amount of fat required on my next phone call home (a tablespoon or so...) my next batch turned out better. Over the intervening years I made pretty much every mistake it's possible to make while bread-baking, but never stopped. It feels strange to think it's been just about 40 years now. 

[liuzhou]

Here is the son of another friend rolling his first rice noodle roll (肠粉 Mandarin: cháng fěn; Cantonese: chéungfán). He needs to work on it a bit, but is clearly pleased with himself.

 

 

 

 

 

Edited May 13, 2018 by liuzhou (log)

[liuzhou]

... and another, younger,  kid mastering his wok skills.  I reckon he has cracked it!

 

 

[Lisa Shock]

He's gonna have some issues with the health department, though...😎

[liuzhou]

A friend sent me this picture today. Her daughter, not yet two, has decided to make a career in the culinary arts. Here is her first effort.

 

[liuzhou]

Yet another friend's daughter, not yet three-years-old, making jiaozi dumplings.

 

[weinoo]

She probably makes them better than I do.

[tomishungry]

It wasn't the first food memory I had, but certainly the most vivid.

 

My dad was in the hospital, and mom was holding down the fort. Taking care of the kids, working a full day, shopping and cooking for us at night. As a stupid kid, I didn't realize how serious the situation was - dad had been in the hospital for weeks, and we were just told, "he'll be fine". Watching mom getting more and more tired, I got up and started cooking breakfast and lunch to take to work for her.

 

I made a mess, of course. I had no idea what I was doing, and I'm pretty sure the food was both burnt and raw when I finished. She ate every crumb and told me it was delicious.

Edited October 21, 2020 by tomishungry (log)

[liuzhou]

This is a dear friend's daughter in a seafood restaurant for the first time for a celebratory Mid-Autumn Festival dinner with her family. She chooses the food from the tanks then examines her selction with obvious delight!

She really is a bright spark. Bi-lingual in Chinese and English. Her mother is an English teacher; her father a police officer. She plays piano and paints way beyond her years. And endlessly curious about the world she finds herself in. She isn't 5 years old, yet.

 

 

 

 

Edited September 22, 2021 by liuzhou (log)

[liuzhou]

My dear friend J's son attempting the chopstick challenge.

 

 

[kayb]

How absolutely adorable. Both of 'em.

 

[liuzhou]

School wasn't like this in my day. We boys never had cooking lessons in primary school; girls had lessons from the age of 13 or 14. 

 

This looks like fun. Pancake faces.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Edited September 18, 2024 by liuzhou (log)

[ElsieD]

I baked our family's weekly supply of cookies from about the age of ten.  I loved making them and as time moved along, I broadened my baking to include things like bars, loaf cakes etc. but not yeast products.  Back in the day, we took home economics in grade nine.  The thing I remember doing is canning tomatoes and that was the first thing I ever "cooked".

 

 My mom was a good cook but never taught me how to cook, and I never thought to ask.  I remember the first meal I ever cooked when first married were pork chops.  I burned them.  By trial and error I taught myself how to cook.  My MIL was Lebanese and taught me how to make stuffed grape leaves and pita bread, thus piquing my interest in bread.  I enjoy cooking but I would still rather bake.

[blue_dolphin]

Seeing the pancakes and reading @ElsieD's comment reminded me that my first regular cooking job was to make the pancakes and sausage for our Sunday breakfast after church, also probably around 10 years old. Took me a while to get the whole thing down as the egg whites had to be separated, whipped and folded in to the rest of the batter.  I moved on to cookies, simple cakes and quick breads but the pancakes were my regular job. 

Other than that, my mom didn't want anyone in the kitchen when she was cooking and never wanted my "help."  The kitchen was quite small so I certainly would have been in the way but I think it was more that she was very thrifty and feared I might do something wrong and waste food.  Also on the thrift side, she might not have wanted anyone to see how carefully she trimmed off wilt-y or discolored bits to maximize what was left to eat.  Wish I could ask her about that now! 

 

 

[Margaret Pilgrim]

I learned basics, I guess, through osmosis in my mother's kitchen.

 

What I will never forget was the first meal I cooked for my husband.    Just back from honeymoon, first apartment.   Failed to check the oven before starting.    Beef roast, popovers, apple pie.    Took "hours" to cook the pie, then roast.    But finally got oven up to temp.    Put popover pan on top rack -> gorgeous, extravagantly tall popovers...whose tops got sheared off when removed from the oven.    Those were the days of easy forgiveness.

[Katie Meadow]

The first meal my mother cooked for my father was roast chicken. Back then, chickens were plucked, but not completely. Not only did she leave whatever feathers were on it, but she neglected to note that the cavity had paper-wrapped liver and giblets inside. She tried to learn to cook, but never really overcame her trepidations. My nephews, her grandsons, always loved her chicken and rice dishes. But to be fair, their mother was a weird health freak and cooked dreadful food for them. Would you serve umeboshi plums to a ten year old for whom a burger and fries was the apex of exotic? The older nephew grew up to be a restaurateur, and the younger one has broad enthusiastic tastes. He adores my cooking! He's married into an Italian family and his father-in-law is a master of the seven fishes feast.

 

Ya never know. My own daughter never wanted to learn anything from me and she's rather a slapdash cook. I forgive her, since she has twin toddler girls and works full time. When we visit, my husband and I do a lot of cooking to help out. Their kitchen is small and poorly stocked, with lousy choices for pots and pans. I would gladly buy them all kinds of equipment, but they claim they don't need anything. In my opinion they need almost everything. 

[Maison Rustique]

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. 

[liuzhou]

BH&G?

[Maison Rustique]

Just now, liuzhou said:

BH&G?

Better Homes & Gardens

[liuzhou]

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.

 

 

Edited September 18, 2024 by liuzhou (log)