I consider it an advantage for my daughters to have a brilliantly talented chef for a father and a mother who could go on the show The Worst Cook in America (except that I don’t have any interest in actually learning how to cook). Dinner with me consists of the extent of my culinary skills: boiling pasta and heating up a jar of sauce. If I have to do much more than empty some food into a bowl and push a couple buttons on the microwave, it’s just not worth it. When “papa” is home, however, we get to experience the fantastic realm of his cooking repertoire. We’ve eaten homemade sushi, pork chops with sauce (Goulash? Glaze? See, I can’t even remember the right name for “sauce”), roasted beet salad with goat cheese; the incredibly delicious list is endless.

One of my favorite things in the entire world is to sit on the sidelines, listening to Lily and Jake make a meal together. They brandish their own aprons and she eagerly awaits instructions. She uses her own little plastic knife to chop up food while he whips through ingredients with a huge sharp knife that I would cut my hand off with if I tried to use. He reminds her that “one of the best things about being a chef is that you get to taste your food!” She has tried (although not necessary swallowed) blue cheese, ahi tuna and artichokes, just to name a few. Spending quality time in the kitchen with her father creates fabulous food and, probably more importantly, lasting memories. At least I can be proud of the fact that she is learning her numbers based on how much time we have to heat up something in the microwave!

*another version of this entry can be reviewed at mamalode.com