Published: December 11, 2007 11:17 pm            

A fruitful day off

For 46 years I have been blessed with excess energy.

I seem to have been born with enough vitality and drive for two people. Though lately, I have been feeling my age.

Sunday I experienced my first “true” day off in six weeks. I planned to stay in bed most of the afternoon and treat myself to a full day of football for the first time since September.

My wife had to take my son to a birthday party and my daughter needed to stay home to work on a school project. Around 1:30 p.m. my daughter came into my bedroom wanting to know what we were having for lunch. I asked her what she would like, and she couldn’t decide.

As an offhand remark, I said, “Why don’t you go into the kitchen and make us a sandwich,” and turned my attention back to the football game.

When on tour or giving a speech, the most frequent question I am asked is, “Who does the cooking in your home?”

The answer is always the same, “My wife cooks for the family, and I cook for company.” It’s not written in stone. The roles reverse on occasion. If my wife decides to sleep late, I am happy to make a “Daddy Breakfast” for the children, or if she’s putting on makeup before the movie, I don’t mind throwing together a chicken casserole and salad. She, too, makes great lasagna, spaghetti, and pasta shells for company.

For the most part, we stick to our roles. Mom cooks for the family. Dad cooks for company and away from home. The children just eat.

Before long my 10-year old daughter came walking into the bedroom holding a tray. She was beaming. I know all of her expressions. This was one that I hadn’t seen before. It was an ear-to-ear smile filled with satisfaction and achievement.

On the tray was a triple-decker peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Fritos, and a glass of milk.

I have eaten thousands of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in my life. In my first six years on the planet, they were almost all I ate, exclusively. I have eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwiches prepared by my mother, by both of my grandmothers, by my babysitters, by my wife, by friends, and by myself. I have taken them to school in lunchboxes. I have eaten them at church and on picnics, I have eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in my formal dining room and I have eaten them in sparsely decorated bachelor apartments. I can truly say that I have never eaten one that I have enjoyed as much as the one prepared and served by my daughter at 1:47 p.m. on Dec. 9, 2007.

An hour later, she came back in the room with a plate of freshly baked oatmeal cookies and another glass of milk.

“Thank you, precious.”

“You’re welcome, daddy.”

The cynical reader might say, “What’s the big deal? It was a sandwich and a plate of Fritos.” That is correct, but it was so much more.

It was a small act of independence born in original thought. The look on her face signaled a sort of self-sufficient culinary rite of passage. She has now reached an age where she can go into the kitchen and prepare food, and she is happy about it.

In the last 20 years, I have eaten at some of this country’s finest restaurants. I don’t know if any of those meals can match the sheer joy I experienced having a Sunday afternoon lunch in bed, prepared by my daughter.

The smile on my daughter’s face was one that I will never forget. It was a look of delight, independence, and accomplishment all at once, and one that could only be surpassed— at that moment— by the look of pride on the face of her father.

Now when I am asked, “Who does the cooking in your home?” I will have to change my answer. My wife cooks for the family. I cook for company, and my daughter cooks for special occasions.

For this week’s recipe, Miniature Smoked Tenderloin Sandwiches with Three Spreads, go to the blog on www.robertstjohn.com.



Robert St.John is an author, chef, restaurateur, and world-class eater. He is the author of six books including the newly released Southern Seasons. He can be reached at www.robertstjohn.com .

        

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