While I’ve never gone to culinary school, I do know two things about it. First, you cook with the very best ingredients. Second, there are only invisible, non-existent calories there.
Two daughters are home for the holiday, and K, my culinary student, has volunteered to teach her sister B all about cooking. They’ve made a multitude of delicious dishes, and baked trays and trays of holiday cookies. We’re of course very pleased not to be in charge of cooking for a few days, so we’ve let them loose. We’ve had seared rosemary-seasoned pork roast, red and green sprinkled confections, and sourdough pancakes with bananas (from scratch starter!!) .
We’ve even had chicken alfredo. With sticks of butter, shredded parmesan and heavy cream. To die for!! Hopefully, not literally.
It’s not so hard to see how those persnickety tv chefs get that way. We must have proper measurement, proper tools and just the right ingredients. We bake with butter. Period. (Although I did persuade her to use the Crisco butter flavored sticks for a couple of things.) When we get chocolate to melt, it’s Ghirardelli. When we get to the amaretto cookies, I hope she’s not disappointed we have bottom shelf, not di Saronno.
The little ones are adapting to the absence of boxed mac and cheese, bless them, and are bravely trying almost everything. (Except Little Miss, who promptly declared that the peppers in the stir-fry were “gross.”)
It’s been great to have them home, and I’m delighted as I read other blogs where the family members are returning to visit, not so much like the swallows at Capistrano, but somewhat more like hungry vultures toting baskets of dirty laundry. But such is the way of things. As mothers and fathers, we are used to making a few sacrifices to keep our offspring inspired.
Like dishes. Apparently, that’s something else chefs don’t do. Although they use three times the cookware, they don’t clean up.
But it’s a small price to pay for the blizzard of YUM. And for seeing how wonderful children have become even more marvelous adults. Huzzah for the mellowing and polishing and yielding, at last, of top shelf young ladies. May they all find their dreams– sooner, instead of later.