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Hands-on cooking class

Imagine the fun of a hands on cooking class.

Additionally we do corporate and group events!

lili@delightfulpalate.net

Aloof Feline Son

 A Halloween must for the menu.

F.R.O.G. is an acronym for furnished room over garage. When the real estate agent showed us this extra living space in the house we were considering, I could see my husband’s eyes sparkle. He knew this would be his music studio, and this dream clinched the sale.

 

Recently, our youngest son, Lloyd, graduated from college, and he and his fraternity mates had to part ways. In between sending out resumes, following up on leads and boxing up his belongings, he nonchalantly started bringing his boxes to our scaled down home that’s comfortably built for two. I eventually gave in and pointed him in the direction of the staircase that leads to the F.R.O.G. 

He and my husband had to come to a compromise over this “extra living space” and so marked their territories with an imaginary line. Having spent my childhood sharing a room with three sisters, I knew my boys would figure something out. 

Lloyd carries with him the essential equipment to cook up a few dishes: a non-stick one-quart saucepan, a couple of spoons, a colander, and a panini press. The first time I offered to pick up a few things for him at the grocery store, he texted me this list: spaghetti noodles, flour tortillas, turkey burgers, turkey bacon, egg whites, salted butter and protein packs. 

I replied, “this is a bland list and what is a protein pack?” to which he texted back “they are in the refrigerated section next to the Lunchables and are called P3 (portable protein pack).”  

Shocked, I realized as I pushed my grocery cart to that section of the store that Oscar Mayer has grown its marketing with its Millennial base. 

The seven-year-old who scarfed down Lunchables is now the 23-year- old who is stocking up on protein packs. The company switched out the crackers for nuts. This is completely genius marketing.

Since the F.R.O.G. is not equipped with a dishwasher, I often see Lloyd’s colander and saucepan as I am unloading ours.  He often whips up a bowl of pasta with salted butter and melted shredded cheese, a simple mans version of 

Pasta with Alfredo sauce- and I see the aftermath.

If he joined my husband and me for dinner, I’d add to his pasta with this colorful dish: an Apple, Cranberry, Spinach Salad with Pecans Avocados and Delightful Palate's vinaigrette, in the flavor of your choice. 

We see little of Lloyd since he has plenty of running mates who remain in town.

He reminds me of a well-worn barn cat, aloof and independent. About every fourth day he enters through the back door and saunters down the hall that leads into the kitchen bearing the look that he has had a couple of days of hard knocks with his untidy hair, and rumpled pajama pants. As he passes by me I pick up on his musty scent. 

I imagine that if he had a fuzzy soft tail it would brush across my ankles as a gesture of assurance. He gives into his feline hunting instincts by opening the oven door to inhale a whiff of caramelized candied bacon with a hint of smokiness roasting within.

 

He makes his way to the couch, grabs a blanket his eyes darting around for the remote control.  As he settles into his nest with the blanket closely tucked under his chin I can faintly hear the motorized, hypnotic sound of him purring.