Iron Chef Cohron
by Jennifer Cohron
Dec 14, 2013 | 974 views | 0 0 comments | 85 85 recommendations | email to a friend | print
Jennifer Cohron
Jennifer Cohron
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The last time I wrote about Wyatt’s escapades in the kitchen, he had sworn off cooking after getting a minor burn on his finger.

The incident and his promise were forgotten within days.

Wyatt now spends more time playing in the kitchen than in his bedroom.

He recently occupied himself by pretending to make muffins for nearly an hour. After the second or third batch came out of the oven, he looked over at me and sighed, “Whew, it’s gonna be a long day.”

The older he gets, the fewer of his dishes are imaginary. Now he wants to make the real stuff.

Just this week, he helped me put on some cornbread. He gathered a couple ingredients and then announced, “Hey, we need corn!”

Zac says Wyatt inherited his logical thinking from me. That may be true, but he certainly got his culinary skills somewhere else.

At 3, Wyatt has already figured out that his mommy is not the cook in the family.

He was recently telling his grandmother about how his daddy had burned breakfast one day. When asked if Mommy ever burned anything, he replied, “No, she just makes eggs.”

After my mother told me that story, I made sure that he saw me put on some Hamburger Helper for dinner. It made me feel like such a domestic diva.

Actually, Wyatt is correct that scrambled eggs is the main dish in my repertoire.

My assistant, Betty Crocker, and I can also whip up a mean boxed cake.

I recently tried my hand at fudge, and my own father was shocked that it was edible.

He said he expected me to burn it. I’m not sure how since fudge has to be refrigerated, but that’s how much confidence my family has in my abilities.

There are plenty of reasons for that.

Once I started mashing potatoes before I gave them time to soften in the boiling water. By the time I realized what had happened, I had already added all the other ingredients and there was no recovering.

Just a few weeks ago, I went to check on the cheese toast that Wyatt had requested and was startled to see that I had absent-mindedly shoved in a paper plate along with the bread.

I’m still not sure how that didn’t result in a fire.

Wyatt will probably never make such an amateur mistake. He has a flawless sense of timing in the kitchen.

His main responsibility when Zac makes pancakes on Sunday mornings is to stand in a chair by the stove and tell him when it is time to flip it.

Once or twice, Zac has made an executive decision to give a pancake a few more seconds and ended up burning it.

Another Sunday, Wyatt warned him repeatedly that he was about to burn the bacon. Sure enough, a few pieces came out over crispy.

Santa has already sent word from the North Pole that Wyatt can expect to find a toddler-sized kitchen under the tree on Christmas morning.

Maybe he’ll be willing to give his mommy and daddy a few cooking lessons.