Sometimes recipes lie

The sound of my telephone’s alert tone startled me, shifting me from the relaxed cloud I was sitting in. As I reached for my phone, I noticed that my daughter had texted. The text was a bit confusing. Before me was a list of rather unconventional items, arranged in a recipe style manner. Doing my best to put together what she was getting at I gave up and asked her what she needed. She then described how she was feeling energetic and was hoping to do a little experimenting with cooking. Instead of a common, easier item like a cake or muffins, the child planned on making some home-made cottage cheese and needed me to pick up the list of ingredients she provided from the store. Although apprehensive, I told her I would.

As my mind raced, I did as she asked and purchased everything she needed. Although the thought of combining milk and vinegar, salt and cream made no sense to me I rolled with it and fulfilled my fatherly duty. The difficult part I struggled with was my understanding that within my household it was only me and the girls who have acquired a taste for cottage cheese so I fully understood that I and I alone would be my precious child’s guinea pig or taste tester. Putting my concern or, to be honest, genuine fear to the side, I encouraged the child to do her best but to remember just how important it was to strictly follow the written recipe. I mean seriously, who can go wrong following a recipe?

As my inspiring little chef completed her masterpiece she turned, as I feared, and inquired as to if I was ready to try some. Now I will say, I am a lover of the delicious little treat but what lay before me wasn’t quite right. With poise and honor, I explained that I was pretty full and would much rather wait until her delicious looking treat chilled in the refrigerator for a while. She agreed and quickly placed her masterpiece on the shelf.

Throughout the afternoon I could feel my child’s eyes watching me with pinpoint accuracy, awaiting any slight deviance from my norm. Like a lioness waiting to pounce on its unsuspecting victim she repeatedly asked if I was ready for the treat. At a certain point I knew it was now or never. I had put off trying her treat as long as I could and had to succumb to her pressure. I mean how bad could it be? I surely could force it down. I had eaten some rather unconventional things in my time so this would be a cake walk, a non-issue. Whether I liked it or not, I would be a good dad and eat it and describe how it was the best thing ever. As I asked her to make me a small bowl, I saw a smile come across her face.

As she brought my serving, I asked her if she got some as well. It was then that I understood what fear truly was. My child smiled, looking apprehensive and stated, “I think I’ll wait till you try it.”

The struggle between wanting your child to feel important and accomplished and your inherent need to survive was real on that day. As I looked upon the white, frothy serving my mind and body told me I really didn’t want to do this, yet my heart said to roll with it. As I shoveled a spoon full into my mouth, I did my best to hold back the undesirable stimuli doing its best to surface. I simply said it was not good, and she and I decided we would stick to the store-bought canisters from there on out.

As my daughter and I spoke about this latest adventure we came to the conclusion that although the end product didn’t meet our expectations, the importance lay in the process. You see, many times we set out to do great things and accomplish big feats. We prepare, research, and follow directions with the intent of providing others with a symbolic feast fit for a king. At times we find that the final product or offering just isn’t good enough. Rather than centering on the negative we must revel in the process which brought us here: the process of giving, self-sacrifice and our time. It is then that true accomplishment can be felt.

Richard J. Stephens lives in Carter County and is the father of three little ladies ranging in age from 9 to 29.