I had the pleasure of a cookery lesson from my five-year-old, youngest grandson yesterday afternoon. He had come round ostensibly to do some gardening but after we had re-arranged the bookcase, "The wrong books are too high up!" read the story of a very unseasonal Mr Christmas and looked for a picture of a bluetit, "My teacher doesn't know anything about them," we started to cut the lawn; a joint effort, me on the mower and him raking up the cuttings which was not too arduous a task given that the grass-box was dealing with ninety nine per cent of them. Within three minutes he had a splinter from the rake handle necessitating a large sticking-plaster and a drink of apple juice, not in that order. "I can put the plaster on myself, I'm very brave."
We then had a hunt for some garden tools which did not contain wood and found a small hand fork. It was deemed too hard work so he decided he wanted to do something else. The lawn finished, I suggested cooking some cakes for Grandad's lunch box. "Oh goodeee, I'm very good at that. I do it with Mummy all the time." That was settled then.
I got out the step stool and positioned it in front of the worktop. The Little Chef jumped up, then jumped off again when he realised he could not open the drawer if he stood in front of it. "Oh, and I forgot to wash the mud off my hands!" The stool was placed in front of the sink and he scrubbed himself and then me. We were finally ready, our mis en place all laid out. Into the scales went the flour. "You mustn't go past the 4, that's too much," the sugar was the same, so was the margarine. I got the eggs out of the box and absent mindedly cracked one into the mixer bowl, I was reprimanded for my trouble.
"That's my job. I crack the eggs, I'm the best cracker in the whole wide world. I'm good at it." Obviously another Gary Rhodes in the making here. I lowered the beaters into the mixer.
"When you turn it on, you do it slow then you go up a number but you always leave one number left 'cos that's too fast." I did as I was told.
Choosing the colours of the cake cases was tricky, mine were not so nice as Mummy's and the girly pink ones and the baby blue discarded in favour of green and yellow. We put one colour in one tray and the other colour in the other tray so we knew which was which. Little Chef spooned the mixture into the cases like a pro and soon we had 12 cases ready to go in the oven. Whilst they cooked we made another mixture, we put sultanas in this lot as Mummy likes them but sadly they were the wrong colour they should have been red. I was ticked off again. Nevertheless another 12 cakes were soon ready for the oven. Now for the best bit, licking the beaters like an ice-cream "My brother usually has the other one but he's not here so I get two. Yummy". The serious little blue eyes lit up like a beacon and he settled down to licking the mixture whilst I cleared up.
Cakes cooked and semi cool, we counted them out of the tins, fortunately we didn't have to go past twelve in each tin or we would have had trouble "Is it 15 or 17 after twelve?" he asked.
Little Chef then decided that bright blue icing was required and having tasted it to check my recipe he bent to the task of icing each cake, little blue tongue stuck out in sheer concentration. "Some of them escaped a bit, never mind." We carefully choose which cakes went in a box to take home to Mummy, naturally the biggest and those with the most icing.
As the last one was finished, Grandad's van drew up outside. The cakes were abandoned as Little Chef raced to the front window to look. He shot back into the kitchen, grabbed a sticky cake and ran into the front garden.
"Grandad, Grandad, look I made these for you." His eyes sparkled with excitement, "And I cracked all the eggs 'cos I'm the best cracker!"
We then had a hunt for some garden tools which did not contain wood and found a small hand fork. It was deemed too hard work so he decided he wanted to do something else. The lawn finished, I suggested cooking some cakes for Grandad's lunch box. "Oh goodeee, I'm very good at that. I do it with Mummy all the time." That was settled then.
I got out the step stool and positioned it in front of the worktop. The Little Chef jumped up, then jumped off again when he realised he could not open the drawer if he stood in front of it. "Oh, and I forgot to wash the mud off my hands!" The stool was placed in front of the sink and he scrubbed himself and then me. We were finally ready, our mis en place all laid out. Into the scales went the flour. "You mustn't go past the 4, that's too much," the sugar was the same, so was the margarine. I got the eggs out of the box and absent mindedly cracked one into the mixer bowl, I was reprimanded for my trouble.
"That's my job. I crack the eggs, I'm the best cracker in the whole wide world. I'm good at it." Obviously another Gary Rhodes in the making here. I lowered the beaters into the mixer.
"When you turn it on, you do it slow then you go up a number but you always leave one number left 'cos that's too fast." I did as I was told.
Choosing the colours of the cake cases was tricky, mine were not so nice as Mummy's and the girly pink ones and the baby blue discarded in favour of green and yellow. We put one colour in one tray and the other colour in the other tray so we knew which was which. Little Chef spooned the mixture into the cases like a pro and soon we had 12 cases ready to go in the oven. Whilst they cooked we made another mixture, we put sultanas in this lot as Mummy likes them but sadly they were the wrong colour they should have been red. I was ticked off again. Nevertheless another 12 cakes were soon ready for the oven. Now for the best bit, licking the beaters like an ice-cream "My brother usually has the other one but he's not here so I get two. Yummy". The serious little blue eyes lit up like a beacon and he settled down to licking the mixture whilst I cleared up.
Cakes cooked and semi cool, we counted them out of the tins, fortunately we didn't have to go past twelve in each tin or we would have had trouble "Is it 15 or 17 after twelve?" he asked.
Little Chef then decided that bright blue icing was required and having tasted it to check my recipe he bent to the task of icing each cake, little blue tongue stuck out in sheer concentration. "Some of them escaped a bit, never mind." We carefully choose which cakes went in a box to take home to Mummy, naturally the biggest and those with the most icing.
As the last one was finished, Grandad's van drew up outside. The cakes were abandoned as Little Chef raced to the front window to look. He shot back into the kitchen, grabbed a sticky cake and ran into the front garden.
"Grandad, Grandad, look I made these for you." His eyes sparkled with excitement, "And I cracked all the eggs 'cos I'm the best cracker!"
3 comments:
Jas the little ones bring so much joy into our lives don't they?
Vicki x
This one never stops talking all the time, you get a running commentary on his day!!
Aw, what a sweetie- great story Jas! :) xx
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