I’m glad I taught my daughter Amy to feed herself. Starting in infancy, when I sprinkled frozen peas on her high chair tray, or handed her a spoon to hold while I fed her, I invited her to get in on the action. She’d practice that pincer grip on the peas, chasing them across the tray and popping them into her mouth with a grin. I noticed other parents were too afraid of mess or worried about just how much their kids were eating to relinquish their role as feeder. At her first Thanksgiving, Amy's cousin was being cajoled and bribed to eat ‘two more spoonfuls’ while Amy held onto a turkey leg and gnawed. She even had her first taste of Zepkah – a garlic-heavy Bohemian cracker stuffing – and loved it.

Amy always joined me in the kitchen, smearing her own pb and j on bread (and the counter and her belly…) as soon as she could handle a butter-knife and proclaim, “Me do!” Her brothers benefited from her interest in the kitchen, and often joined her. Saturday mornings we could stay in bed a while longer, as the kids poured their own cereal and milk. That is, until the morning I heard, “Can we make eggs.....? Ooops!”

They all learned to scramble eggs, (in a pan, not on the floor) and make French toast and pancakes. Simple lunches and suppers were within reach, for kids who knew their way around the kitchen. Amy didn’t just explore my kitchen – she was an avid food-show fan. She liked them better than cartoons – first the Frugal Gourmet with me, and later the Food Network.

For the huge family parties we held, she always helped. By the time she was in High School, she began producing much of the menu, and began perfecting pies and cookies, entrees and appetizers. She started to get requests, relatives wanting to make sure she’d bake the elaborate pear tart with a ground-hazelnut crust for holidays. We started gifting her kitchen utensils and baking pans and one year for Christmas she asked for a Kitchen-Aid mixer. She became such a confident and experimental cook, I started to ask her for advice.

In her own kitchen now, I’m always amazed at what she can do. Dinner parties for friends, gourmet treats for parties. She tsks at my bottled dressing, telling me how easy it is to whip up a vinaigrette – and I’m starting to listen.

Last week I stopped by and she asked if I wanted lunch. “What do you have?” I asked. “I have stuff…” she said vaguely. I knew it would be good, and it was. She sliced some leftover, very tender steak, and squeezed lime juice over it. Shredded Chihuahua cheese, and tucked it into pitas, warming them on a grill pan. Pulled out a delicious salsa she had made, from heirloom tomatoes, a red chile and some jalapeno, garlic, onion, and fresh parsley from the garden. (out of tortillas and cilantro – it didn’t make a difference). Simple food, but the flavors combined wonderfully, and she had pulled it all together faster than we could have picked up take-out.

As we sat in her kitchen enjoying the impromptu fiesta, I thought about that kid chasing peas across her tray. I was glad I’d taught Amy to feed herself. I never realized that one day she’d be feeding me.