Secret Recipes

My earliest cooking experience that I can remember was a bit traumatizing. My sister and I decided to take a whack at cooking since Mom did it every night. How hard could it be? I was about eight or so, Christina about 7. We wanted to make something for Dad, to impress him. We carefully selected our secret ingredients and dumped them into the blender. When the concoction was smooth enough to drink, we took it downstairs to Dad. He and Mom were watching T.V. as we asked him to try our new recipe. Dad was extremely cautious, probably because of the bits of red floating around in the yellow, globby liquid, and asked us what was in it. Our secret ingredients we replied. Mom encouraged him to try it. As he took a swig, we both could tell right away that he did not like it. He demanded to know what was in it. We hesitantly told him our secret ingredients. Two eggs, apple juice and some strawberries.

Although many would not have tried or liked our raw egg mixture, I observed over the years that Dad was a picky eater. My mom can attest to this. I know there are certain dinners that my dad despises. For example, he believes that a salad is not sufficient enough to eat for dinner, even if there is grilled chicken on top. The same goes for chicken noodle soup.

Tomorrow I am cooking dinner for my family and I have chosen a chicken noodle soup recipe I was given when I got married. I know this is a dicey choice, but hopefully Dad won’t totally hate it. I may have to make him a large side of meat so he is fulfilled after dinner. Good luck to me.