The Egg Crackers

The kitchen is my domain and it is hard to share with a couple of dirty dog boys who are eating machines. Most days I feel like a line cook at a busy scratch diner, mass producing for the growing weeds that are my children. I am an organized, fast cook and I thank my lucky stars that I have done serious hard time in kitchens and that I grew up in a family of cooks, all that makes feeding my kids easier. Lately the boys have been wandering into the kitchen, with their blankets, pre breakfast time, sleepy still, and starving and wanting to “help”. I am pretty sure by “helping” it is their way of telling me to hustle up and get the food on the table but it turns out that they are also starting to be interested in the kitchen.

It is hard for me to let small hands “help” in my kitchen, but I also know it is how I learned about good food, pots and pans and knives, prepping early in the morning and buying good food. I learned from my Mom, perched in the sunny, warm kitchen, when I was a kid. We learned by watching her and helping because hanging out kids got put to work. Punching down dough, stirring soup, unloading the dishwasher, portioning cookies. So it isn’t like I have to give my boys “lessons” I just have to fold them into what I do everyday, gently, and let them discover and learn from what I do and what my Mom taught me. I have to make time for them in the kitchen and I have to be ok with a mess and a million questions and slowing down.

So we are cracking eggs, lots, every morning. They crack, pick out shells, wash hands, add milk, a little salt and scramble with a salad fork. I still cook, but that may change this week. And their reward is sitting down at our dining room table with big bowls of “their” scrambled eggs. They claim they taste better then my scrambled eggs and I am trying not to take umbrage at that. They are proud of their eggs and goodness knows they are going to eat millions of them in their lifetimes. Good thing they are learning how to cook them now.