I’ve been getting a lot of complaints about my cooking lately.
Not from my husband.
No, from David, my four-year-old.
He informed me recently that pancakes are among one of my many culinary failings. “They’re not perfect like Grandma’s, and they’re too brown.” What he meant was my HOMEMADE pancakes are not perfectly round and evenly golden like the FROZEN ones my mother gives him at her house. (Just for the record, the ones I made were not burned.)
When we went to McDonald’s for breakfast a few days later, David pointed at the pancakes we ordered and said, “Look Mommie. That’s how you’re supposed to make pancakes.”
He told me my hamburgers have the same problem, and said that we need to purchase a burger mold he saw advertised on TV. “Your stove doesn’t make them right Mommie. Buy it.” I guess I should be glad he placed the blame on the stove that time.
Last night when I pulled some drop biscuits out of the oven for dinner he looked at them and asked, “Don’t you ever make flat biscuits?” He wanted the ones that come refrigerated in a cardboard tube.
Sometimes for lunch I make him little pizzas on hamburger buns, and he asks for “real” pizza. “Real” pizza comes from Little Caesars.
If I make homemade Mac&Cheese he tells me it’s the wrong kind. The right kind? Kraft of course.
I make dinner most nights, and most of what we eat I make from scratch. I even made a lot of David’s baby food, and I still ended up with a kid who would rather eat food from a box or a drive-thru.
If we went to Mexico for dinner tonight he’d ask where Taco Bell was so he could get a “real” taco.
Who wants an Enchirito?