“Quick question,” my granddaughter said to me. The oven fan was humming above the stove in the kitchen where she was mixing, fixing and cooking. “Do you like your pasta al dente, or a little softer?”
I was in New Jersey spending time with my eldest, my son-in-love and my two grandchildren, 11-year-old Imani and 15-year-old Xavion. It was the last day of school for the two of them before the holiday break, and Imani bounced up the steps of her apartment to greet Ghost, her dog, and Cool Papa, her grandfather. She went into the kitchen, washed her hands and told me that she was going to cook some pasta with meat sauce for lunch.
Bing, Imani’s father, likes to cook and his daughter wants to be with him when he does. In January 2016 I wrote of their relationship in the kitchen in the column, “Cooking With Dad.” When Imani was about four, I visited with her and her eight-year-old brother and I would make pancakes for them; Imani would cook with me. I made a video of us cooking, with an audio track by “The Marvelous Marvin Pontiac,” a song called “Pancakes.” The making of pancakes became a tradition for we two “grands,” father and daughter, though Imani never really liked to eat the pancakes that we cooked. It surprised me to get a Facetime video chat from her one recent Sunday, where she asked me, “Guess what I’m doing?” She was making pancakes for her mother, as well as an omelet with cheese and chopped grape tomatoes, and a side of turkey bacon.
I answered Imani’s question about the pasta, and when she offered some to me, I told her that my gout does not allow me to eat red meat. “That’s OK,” she said. “I’ll make some sauce for you without the meat.” She did, and after tasting it, I asked how she had prepared it. “I started with some leftover pasta sauce and I added a little water and some basil, oregano, and Italian seasoning.” As she stirred the sauce in the pan, she suddenly started: “I forgot the garlic!” She bolted to the refrigerator, got a jar of minced garlic, and added a small amount to the simmering sauce. The pasta she served me was delicious.
Later in the week, Imani asked, “Cool Papa, can I make some macaroni?” I assented and she got busy with the pots and pans while her girlfriend watched. A little while later, she showed me a square glass container of macaroni and cheese. After I enjoyed it, I asked Imani how she had made it so creamy. “I used milk and egg,” which she whipped together and poured over the pasta, which had been layered with cheese. “You don’t have to cook the macaroni as long,” she explained, “because, like, I baked it in the convection oven for like, ten minutes, in increments of five minutes.” When I was 11, I don’t think that I was cooking in “increments.”
Imani wants to compete on a cable TV show called “Chopped, Jr.,” a spin-off of a cooking show called “Chopped.” Chefs compete in a cook-off after the judges — themselves notable chefs — provide a few ingredients and challenge the contestants to prepare a dish. Three chefs dash about the kitchen, cooking and colliding until something is ready to present. The chef who fails to please the judges gets “chopped.” I imagine the kids’ version to be similar, and Imani says that, once she gets a handle on “three ingredients,” she’ll be ready to go.
I believe in her.
cjon3acd@att.net