#147 Cooking

This morning I made the boys white chocolate chip pancakes. The white chocolate chips were left over from a cookie making project from a couple of weeks ago so I decided to throw them into the pancakes. They came out really well, a little sweet for me, but the boys gobbled them up. Between the pancakes and hot chocolate, they had a pretty good breakfast.




I really don’t cook a lot. I don’t enjoy it and I’m not that into food. As you may have figured out from earlier blog posts, I’m a pretty picky eater. I can handle pancake mix, but it took me a long time to get over feeling guilty that I wasn’t making it from scratch the way my mom always did. Oh well, cooking is one of her strengths, not one of mine.



If I do choose to cook, my food usually turns out well, it’s just that I usually choose not to cook. I can, however, vividly remember an episode from my childhood when my cooking did not turn out well at all.



A couple of weeks ago my kids both had Thursday and Friday off from school. My younger son goes to a Jewish preschool and they were off for Rosh Hashanah. My older son’s school was closed for teacher work days. Why they needed work days 10 days into the school year I don’t really know, but apparently they did.



I took the kids to the supermarket and let them pick out anything they wanted to put into the cookies. We ended up with M&M’s (my choice), white chocolate chips, butterscotch chips, sprinkles, red icing and blue sugary stuff. We made basic sugar cookies and I let the boys load their cookies however they wanted. It was a lot of fun and they certainly enjoyed making and eating the cookies.



I can remember making cookies with a friend when I was in elementary school. While we were doing this, our little brothers were playing together. I can remember sitting at my kitchen table measuring out the ingredients and waiting and waiting to finally taste the finished product. They didn’t taste very good, in fact they were terrible. I think we accidentally substituted salt for sugar.



We decided we should try them out on our brothers anyway. My friend’s brother was very polite and in between winces told us how good they were. Eric had no qualms about spitting his out and telling us how awful they were. At the time I was mortified and wished he had acted more like my friend’s brother, but that would not have been Eric. And through the years as I’ve teased him about his cooking adventures I think I have gotten even.