I was lucky enough to grow up in a household where cooking and baking were part of the daily activities. We didn’t know what the blue box or pillsbury crescents were. I can remember many of days sitting and watching Julia, Yan-Can, and Jeff Smith (AKA the Frugal Gourmet) with my dad and wanting nothing more to be able to one day slice, dice and chop with the speed, precision and pizazz of these masters. I feel as though I have grown into a decent home chef who can throw together an elegant meal and, with my lovely bride on the dessert station, can complete a nice 3-5 course dinner without any major hiccups. The past ten months though had us cooking a different kind of main course (well I just mainly helped with the prep). To watch your child grow up in the womb is an incredible journey unto itself, starting with nothing more than a blob (a gummy bear holding a balloon as the OB put it). Then, all of a sudden morphing in a really small version of a baby that you watch move around on a 24″ flat panel TV in some posh doctors office. It’s not a little gummy bear anymore. There are hands and feet and a head and fingers, oh my. Legs and arms and facial expressions (or so it seemed) and he’s moving and groovin’ and maybe even a little stubborn about letting us get a good look (he must take after his papa a bit). Is it too hot? too cold? or just right in there? Should we have used convection? Are you getting evenly cooked? I started asking myself these questions (well maybe not the convection one but the others I did). It’s not like you can just open the oven door and stick a toothpick in to see how it’s cooking. So I found myself getting a little nervous as the time came for the bun to removed from the oven, is he done? What if he needed another couple days? What cooking school did you go again Doc? Then out he came, done to perfection (Julia would be proud), I can hear her saying “Life itself is the proper binge”, and she was right, I will binge on this little life for the next…, well lets just say many of years.
I can’t wait to start spending time with Ronin in the kitchen the way my parents did with me. Who knows, maybe one day he will spend 9 months helping out with his own main course (which will be just dessert for us). So to your future, we raise our glass’ Ronin.