describe the first time you cooked something all by yourself. Bring out the thrills, fears, and the sense of achievement you expected.
250-300 words
Answers
Answer:
One of my earliest memories, is that of my first cooking experience. I was about three years old, and was awakened one morning by the shrill cries of my baby sister. This was not unusual, as she awoke hungry every morning, and cried until mother pacified her with that first bottle of milk.
That particular morning, Mother seemed rather slow to respond to my sister's persistent demands.
Having watched Mother prepare our meals daily, I was quite sure there was nothing to it. I knew right where she kept the white enamel sauce pan she used, retrieved it from the bottom drawer of the stove, and carefully placed it on the front burner.
I remained focused and determined as I scooted a chair up to the open refrigerator, climbed up, grabbed the open milk jug and wrestled it to the floor. Next I removed a pink, plastic bottle from the dish drainer, selected a nipple, and with considerable effort filled the bottle, (and a large part of the floor), with milk. After a quick break to mop the floor with Mothers dish towel, I continued on my mission. "Mother will be so proud of me", I thought to myself.
Standing on tippy toes, I placed the bottle into the pan, turned the burner on, and headed to my sister's room to comfort her, and to inform her that her bottle was on it's way.
Having not yet mastered the concept of time, I don't know how long I stayed in my sister's room, but it seemed like no time at all that I heard my mother's footsteps hurrying into the kitchen. I followed close behind and arrived in time to see her remove the pan from the stove and in to the sink. The kitchen was filled with dense smoke and the pungent odor of melted plastic was nauseating.
Mother stood silently, facing the sink, her hands covering her face. I could see she was not happy. I was disappointed too. I couldn't imagine where I had failed.
Mother was preoccupied with cleaning up the mess and was in no mood for discussion.
It wasn't until I was in my thirties, while teaching my young son the basics of cooking, that I realized what had happened. How could I have known, from my angle, that Mother always had water in the pan?