YO MAMA: A recipe for patience, self-discipline and the joy of sharing
OPINION
Of all the advice I absorbed from parenting books, a recipe turned out to be one of the most valuable pointers I ever put into practice. It’s how I came to make — with my 18-month-old toddler’s help — the iconic yogurt cake from the popular French parenting memoir Bringing Up Bébé. And it’s how I came to love cooking with my toddler up alongside me, rather than underfoot.
Gâteau au Yaourt, which is said to be every French child’s first homemade cake, uses a tub of yogurt and several other ingredients mostly measured out by your toddler using the yogurt container as a scoop. According to the French, baking with your toddler teaches many important life skills: following instructions, patience, and learning to indulge in moderation.
The day we made the cake, my kid looked at me like I’d just handed him the keys to the car. Laid out before him was a cornucopia of typically taboo items: the big tub of flour, a jug of vegetable oil, vanilla extract and the mystical bag of sugar. Within reaching distance were measuring spoons and cups, a whisk and a giant stainless bowl that he was permitted, on occasion, to bang on with a wooden spoon.
“OK, let’s put on your apron,” I said. I was excited, because I had made the apron myself and was pretty proud of it.
The kid recoiled the instant I tried to put the apron over his head. It was like trying to put a cone on a dog.
“NAH-NAH-NAH!”
“But it will keep you clean and tidy,” I coaxed. “And mommy is wearing one. Look, we can be matching!”
The kid started climbing down his kitchen stand. I was losing him.
“OK, fine,” I said. “Get back up here, you don’t have to wear the apron I lovingly made for you when I could have been sleeping instead.”
Smiles. Clapping hands. A satisfied giggle. I suppressed an urge to crack an egg on his head.
I laid out the ground rules. I would let him do the measuring, pouring and mixing, but he had to be a good listener and do as he was told. He nodded sombrely, and I handed him the yogurt container.
“OK, DUMP!” I said.
The kid didn’t move a muscle.
“It’s OK, you can actually dump it out. Into the bowl,” I added.
With a look of total determination, the kid put both pudgy little hands around that tub of yogurt and dumped it into the bowl. We both yelled out a triumphant “yeah!” The activity kept him happy and engaged for a solid 20 minutes while we measured, mixed and poured. He was even happier when the cake had finished baking in the oven and cooled on the counter (hard work and patience yield delicious results).
And that is how the kid started “helping” in the kitchen. It was messy work, but we both loved it.
I gave up on the apron and, to save on laundry and make for an easier clean-up, let the kid take his clothes off (an added bonus for him, since he was routinely attempting to go nude anyways.)
I learned to go with the flow — if things weren’t measured exactly, I didn’t fuss over it. Stuff usually turned out just fine. When (not if) dust clouds of flour exploded over the counter or batter oozed onto the floor, I didn’t swoop to clean it up right away. I learned to wait, because there would be many “oopsies” before the dish was done (also, it’s great to have a dog — someone ought to put that in a parenting book).
Many times, I reminded myself to focus on the positives; the kid might have made a mess, but he also made a batch of pretty decent mini omelettes. I didn’t have a lot of time (or motivation) to set up a lot of crafts for him, so cooking was our way of learning, playing and being creative together.
The kid tasted everything — poppy seeds, pastry dough, paprika, sesame oil and lemon juice. He learned how to get a pinch of cinnamon, roll out pizza dough and crank the pepper grinder.
Some days he was more interested than others, and there were plenty of times a bowl of muffins sat abandoned on the counter while a certain cranky toddler was put down for his nap early, the cooking activity aborted. Those days were balanced out by the much more frequent occasions when the kid ran into the kitchen where I was cooking dinner and began patting his hand on his chest to indicate “I want to do it!”
He began developing a curiosity about food that I hadn’t seen before. He was more willing to try new things in the low-pressure environment of a casual cooking session and was always more interested in sitting at the dinner table when he had helped with the dish.
Now that he is two and capable of heaving the refrigerator door open, he likes to collect various ingredients to make his own inventive dishes. The only downside of this hilarious hobby is that I always have to taste his concoctions (Dijon mustard in a glass of milk is as bad as it sounds, but “vivre la différences” I guess.)
My favourite thing about cooking with my toddler — aside from getting to lick the bowl together — is that it teaches him the joy of sharing. He can hardly contain his excitement when he gets to bring a batch of blueberry muffins to his grandpa or offer a homemade cookie to one of his friends (sharing toys, on the other hand, is still a work in progress).
Cooking truly is a recipe for lifelong learning, for children and parents.
Bon appetit!
— Charlotte Helston gave birth to her first child, a rambunctious little boy, in the spring of 2021. Yo Mama is her weekly reflection on the wild, exhilarating, beautiful, messy, awe-inspiring journey of parenthood.
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