My Little Chef-in-Training

Though I wouldn't go so far as to call myself a epicurean master, I am rather comfortable in the kitchen. I know my way around a Cuisinart, and I can whip up a yummy marinade by tossing a few random condiments together in a Ziploc bag. So it delights me to no end that Daniel seems to find happiness in all things culinary. Aside from simply liking to eat, Daniel prefers to play with cups and utensils over anything else. He just got a picnic-table playhouse, and he loves to sit on the bench and join me for a pretend tea party. He'll take a plastic cup and spoon and show me how to "stir," no doubt mimicking my feverish morning-coffee preparation. He picks up the plastic hot dog and takes a "bite," and even "nibbles" the plastic corn. What he much prefers, however, is the real thing.

If I allowed him, Daniel could play in the refrigerator and dishwasher for hours. He climbs into the fridge and proceeds to remove all jars and containers from the shelving on the door. He's particularly fond of the syrup and soy sauce. Whatever he can reach gets rearranged. The dishwasher, though not the safest of play zones, is a wonder to him. He pulls out silverware and mugs and begins to prepare a concoction. He loves the sound of the forks and knives clanging together, and really enjoys manipulating the "adult" utensils. All that he usually gets are the boring, noiseless, plastic spoons. I'm content to let him play with the contents of the dishwasher, so long as I'm nearby to supervise. So far, he hasn't shown any violent tendencies while brandishing a butter knife.

Last night, I served Daniel grilled chicken and sweet potatoes for dinner. He seemed to enjoy it at first, but soon grew annoyed with having to use his hands to feed himself. I pulled out a plastic fork and showed him how to stab the pieces of food and lift them to his mouth. He was doing pretty well, too, until the novelty wore off. In the end, I had to give him a real knife and fork to play with so that he would allow me to feed him the remainder of his dinner. There was something so interesting about those grown-up utensils that eating became a secondary function. Next step is to teach him how to cook me dinner!