There's two ways to success.
A short story of dinnertime failure and a parenting hack that actually worked.
I think I’m a pretty decent cook.
I’m not an expert, by any means—I have no formal culinary training, and there’s still plenty I don’t know how to do—but I can hack it. I know the basics of a lot of different food preparations, I have a good handle on flavor combinations, and I’m both willing and able to improvise in the kitchen. I might never make it on Top Chef, but in my prouder moments, I tell myself that I could probably make a respectable showing on Chopped.
Of course, not everyone agrees.
There’s no question I’m regularly asked that I loathe more, and it happens every day. Maybe it’s at 5pm. Maybe it’s at 3pm. On occasion, it might even happen at 10am, but the point is, at some point in any given day, I’m going to be asked the question.
What are we having for dinner, Daddy?
Sometimes I’ll pretend I didn’t hear the question. Sometimes I’ll say “I don’t know yet”, even though I’m very obviously cooking dinner at that precise moment. And sometimes I’ll just bite the bullet and face the…