Sometimes my mouth opens up and makes promises all by itself while the rest of me listens, astounded. It then falls to said "rest of me" to figure out how to make good or else to plan a strategic retreat.
Last December, my granddaughters and two of their cousins came for what has become a tradition: the annual slumber party with Oma (aka me.) The discussion turned to cooking. Someone said wouldn't it be nice to have a visit where all they did was cook, and someone said they'd like to create their own recipes and someone said, sure, let's plan on doing that when school's out.
Since that last someone was me, my brain has been trying to figure out a) when, and b) what in the world made me think I could teach four girls to cook. My own children had mixed reactions: Adrian burst out laughing and Patrick asked me if I planned on teaching the girls how to remove food from the stove before it gets to the stage where I say, "Just scrape off the burnt part, it's fine underneath..."
They were being merciful. They could have brought up the Infamous Clam Chowder Incident, the one where Goofy Pooch took a sniff of the chowder and backed away in panic.
With school starting up again soon, time was running out. We made plans. Yesterday morning, two sets of parents delivered four eager young ladies to my door. My granddaughters, M (12) and S (8), along with their cousins, H (14) and B (12), dropped their bags to the floor and asked, "Where do we start?"
We started at a local farmers' market (M announced to her parents afterward, "I have now experienced a Farmers' Market, and they – are – not – air-conditioned!") It was fun watching the girls pick out fruits and vegetables. I found myself passing on produce selection sniffing-and-thumping tricks my mother taught me.
The evening's cooking session surprised the girls by yielding a very good beef stew. After supper, we made our regular trek to Half Price Books, where I gave the girls a small budget and set them loose in the store. They were so worn out when we got home that they fell asleep almost instantly.
This morning, they learned to make pancakes. They even learned how to improvise when you suddenly run out of flour because you haven't baked anything in so long that you'd forgotten you own a flour bin, much less that it needed restocking.
After pancakes, it was time for another favorite: Nickelrama, an arcade where every game runs on nickels and the machines are generous with tickets. I bought the girls each a cup of nickels and sat down to watch the fun. Kids of all sizes, ages, colors and shapes ran every which way. Game bells and alien ray guns rang through the air. Adults followed their respective kids around, sometimes in a slight daze. I watched a grandmother pump nearly $20 into a game, methodically winning tickets for her grandson to redeem for a $1.75 toy. One woman had brought her little one to the arcade for what appeared to be the first time: the girl (about 3 years old) stared around in wonder, threw her hands into the air and exclaimed, "I just don't... I just don't...I just don't KNOW!" I later saw them at the Sponge Bob game, so apparently she figured it out.
We had pineapple-glazed chicken for lunch and talked about the girls' upcoming school year and boys and hair styles. And somewhere around the time I figured out that the Great Cooking Weekend was really about strengthening ties soon to be tested by adolescence, it was time to make supper.
At 5:30, two sets of parents arrived to find signs on the door announcing, "Welcome" and "Parents, Come In". They were served lasagna, green salad, fresh fruit, garlic bread, "smores pie" and beaming smiles by four young ladies.
Maybe next time, I'll get to teach them the art of disguising slightly-charred biscuits. It can be done – I promise.
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