Old saying goes " Give a man a fish, you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, you feed him for life."

 Yesterday proved to me that the same applies to boys and cooking.

 I grew up in a traditional household. Though Mommie Dearest worked part time, no one dared enter her kitchen when she was there. In today's verbiage, it was 'her space'. Other than barbecue, I doubt I can think of three times my father cooked anything.

 Then I went off to university. without a meal plan. My residence had a cafeteria, but only Monday to Friday. There were no fast food joints within walking distance, and I had no car.  By trial and error, with a little help from my friends, I learned to cook a steak; mac and cheese out of a box; spaghetti out of a jar with pasta... that was about it. Third year, I moved into an apartment. Graduated to Hamburger Helper in all its glorious varieties. Learned to add tuna to the mac and cheese. 

 After a couple of seasons in the Dearest's basement after graduation, I got my own place. Mommie Dearest was always happy to feed me, but that worked best in small doses. Take out and my local pub were nice, but I gradually developed my signature spaghetti sauce - eat one day, eat the refrigerated second portion two days later, freeze about six meals worth. It was also my bachelor's solution to entertaining. Chicken, steak and burgers were rare adventures.

I can no longer recall why it was after I married that cooking became a regular, and joyful experience. Certainly, my wife established high expectations. At some point, I started to hold up that tradition. Whether it was because of illness, childbirth, or just opportunity, I started cooking occasionally, then most weekends, and then more often. Eventually, it became a passion, a joy, anything but a chore.

 Long before the marriage ended, we tried to introduce our sons to the joy of cooking.When lil B was small, he was curious and adventuresome, but quickly discovered the joys of frozen pizza, perogies and boxed mac and cheese. It quickly became impossible to get him to try cooking much else - with puberty, his curiosity was directed at other adventures. Mid size B was always much more willing to let others do for him.

 After the nuclear family imploded, lil B cooked a few token meals but quickly returned to survival defrosting. Mid sized B accepted that as an older teen, he would need to prepare a few meals. He started boiling pasta  and reheating sauce. then boiling veggies. Eventually, he learned to roast chicken.

Last May, he asked me for a 'recipe' for my trademark "Practically Painless chicken" - not to be confused with "Practically Painless Pork". Of course, I had no recipe, merely an approach - chop the meat into pieces, saute with mushrooms onion, celery and garlic (all if available), add whatever herbs and spices are at hand (varying each time); construct a sauce out of stock or juice, or both, serve with pasta or rice. I expanded this into a two page email *  and he applied his usual studious ways. Eventually, we did the same with a few other dishes.

 Last fall, he asked if he could cook every Monday, to give me a break, and keep in practice. He seldom works Mondays, and is done school early. Monday is a heavy and often late day for me.  With a few trade offs, it has kept going since, his confidence and skill ever growing ( I WISH I could dice as well as him). Last week, I walked him through breaded chicken breasts. His were better than I make.

 Then last night was Monday. I had a meeting. He decided to cook pork. I got home way later than planned - around midnight. Hungry.  he had saved me leftovers.

 I warmed up Practically Painless Pork, nice and creamy, mixed with rice.  It was better than my cooking. A perfect balance of chili pepper flakes, oregano, and something else, in an apple juice/chicken stock reduction with onions and celery. The rice was just right- moist and plump ( I'm the only person I know who alternates between rice that is too hard or too wet).

I have taught my son to cook. I have fed him for life.

Though he's still always willing to take my money to call out for pizza.

*should I edit the email and post the 'recipe' next week? with apologies to Verbal Remedy , the method screams for variation...