Hot cocoa.

Hot chocolate has become a bit of a ritual on these cold Winter evenings. The recipe is simple: 16oz milk; 1T Natural, high fat cocoa (Penzeys, of course); 2T sugar; a dash of double-strength vanilla; a dash of cinnamon if we're feeling saucy. Sometimes, we doctor it up a bit.

Tonight, I made cocoa for Jami and myself, and I added a shot of Jameson Blended Irish Whiskey to mine.

Now, the kids are used to seeing large green bottles. We cook with wine, and if the kids are helping, I encourage them to taste everything, not just the wine: a bit of mushroom, a bit of shallot, the dill, the thyme. As to the wine, just a sip, mind you, and why not? I asked Katie at table the other night while the in-laws were there, "Katie, what does a good chef always do?"

Her reply came with the longsuffering patience of a nine year old answering a parent's question for the hundredth time: "A good chef tastes his ingredients."

Good girl. And it's only been a few times*.

"What's THAT?", Jami said, seeing the bottle. "Wine?"

"Nope," I measured the shot. "Whiskey."

"Whiskey, huh? Can I have some in mine?"

Okay, I'm prepared for that question. I put my finger in the shot glass, where several drops remain. 

"Stick our your tongue," I commanded. He did so. My finger, with a drop of golden liquid glistening on the tip, drew a line down the center of his tongue. As I've taught him, he smacked his lips a few times, considering. 

"It's yummy!" he decided, and held out his cup for a shot of his own. 

As if, boyo, I thought. I up-ended the nearly empty shot glass over his cup, and two or three drops fell in. Not enough even to taste, but son and dad shared the moment and he walked away happy.


* I've also taught them, when they're helping in the kitchen and I give an instruction, to say, "Yes, chef."

Hot cocoa.

Hot chocolate has become a bit of a ritual on these cold Winter evenings. The recipe is simple: 16oz milk; 1T Natural, high fat cocoa (Penzeys, of course); 2T sugar; a dash of double-strength vanilla; a dash of cinnamon if we're feeling saucy. Sometimes, we doctor it up a bit.

Tonight, I made cocoa for Jami and myself, and I added a shot of Jameson Blended Irish Whiskey to mine.

Now, the kids are used to seeing large green bottles. We cook with wine, and if the kids are helping, I encourage them to taste everything, not just the wine: a bit of mushroom, a bit of shallot, the dill, the thyme. As to the wine, just a sip, mind you, and why not? I asked Katie at table the other night while the in-laws were there, "Katie, what does a good chef always do?"

Her reply came with the longsuffering patience of a nine year old answering a parent's question for the hundredth time: "A good chef tastes his ingredients."

Good girl. And it's only been a few times*.

"What's THAT?", Jami said, seeing the bottle. "Wine?"

"Nope," I measured the shot. "Whiskey."

"Whiskey, huh? Can I have some in mine?"

Okay, I'm prepared for that question. I put my finger in the shot glass, where several drops remain. 

"Stick our your tongue," I commanded. He did so. My finger, with a drop of golden liquid glistening on the tip, drew a line down the center of his tongue. As I've taught him, he smacked his lips a few times, considering. 

"It's yummy!" he decided, and held out his cup for a shot of his own. 

As if, boyo, I thought. I up-ended the nearly empty shot glass over his cup, and two or three drops fell in. Not enough even to taste, but son and dad shared the moment and he walked away happy.


* I've also taught them, when they're helping in the kitchen and I give an instruction, to say, "Yes, chef."