Knives!

Knives. You just can’t avoid them. In theory, you give a kid a knife and teach her or him how to use it. With a little luck, they learn, they listen and all is good. Of course, getting a mother to buy this is like convincing William Tell’s mother he just needed a little instruction before letting fly with his arrows.

I’ve had to swallow hard and accept that if they’re going to cook, my kids are going to chop. My daughter has her preferred knife, a small, sharp paring knife that’s easy for her to hold. It also fits her cutting board, a little non-slip rubber one her grandmother gave her. It’s a good combination for her. For both kids, I introduced them to cutting by putting them in charge of tofu. It’s an ideal first date with the knife. Easy to manage, simple to cut, no perfection required. From there, we gradually moved onto cheese, mushrooms and zucchini.

My son recently went through a phase of “it’s the eating I like, not the cooking.”

I didn’t fight him on it. But a few weeks later, we were making turkey soup and he was wandering around the kitchen, getting in the way, looking like him might be interested, but not sure how to join in.

I handed him the big knife and the carrots.

Carrots are my personal test-case of parental control. They’re hard. They’re round. The knife could slip. It’s hard for me to watch him chop without reaching in there and taking the knife away.

“I LOVE chopping!” he declared, and he was back in the groove.

Celery, turkey, carrots – they all went into the pot. Chopped.

Given the opportunity, I’ll chop the carrots (or at least get them to have one flat surface) but if a knife is his entry back into the kitchen, so be it.