With his mixing bowls around him and the recipe in his mind, Albert set to work.
05.03.2021
As Albert gets started in the kitchen, I am reminded of early moments of cooking when I was perhaps ten or eleven years old. I must have been given permission to start using the stove by that time, because I remember waking up early and deciding that I would make breakfast in bed for my parents. This most likely meant scrambled eggs, buttered toast with cinnamon and sugar or jelly, and if there was one in the fridge, a cup of yogurt. I don’t think I was quite ready to handle the sizzle of bacon at that point. I enjoyed the cooking process, I’m sure, but I think what I liked doing most was arranging everything on a tray so that it would be special when presented. I’m sure I even popped out to the yard to pick a dandelion to add to the arrangement.
The other day my daughter brought me a stack of items on a pink frisbee and told me that she had made me breakfast. A layer of exercise bands was lettuce, a lotion bottle laid on its side a piece of bread, and a yoga ball was an apple. It was all delicious and I was thankful, seeing again the link of play that often runs through the things we enjoy doing most. My daughter with a frisbee plate, my ten year-old self playing butler to my parents, and Albert here, preparing a special creation.
