Our daughter moved into her university apartment over the weekend. The place looks like a resort. Never mind that her dad and I would gladly trade places with her. The complex has a swimming pool and a Jacuzzi; basketball courts; and tree-lined, brick streets. The unit has two bright bedrooms with adjoining bathrooms; a living room; and a small, uncluttered kitchen. Sorry, I said never mind, didn't I? Forgot.
Last year, our daughter was not at all pleased with the cafeteria meals in the dorm. This year, she is determined that things will be different. She has a plan: She is going to cook for herself, even though all she can remember making in her 19 years are two batches of brownies from mix.
We bought her a Crock-Pot and a food processor. Like her mother, she's a vegetarian. Yesterday was her first cooking adventure, lentil soup, and I got to participate over the phone. It started with this:
"OK, I'm in the store. What should I buy?"
"Onion, garlic, celery--"
"Wait! Hold it. I'll call you back after I find the celery."
Somewhere in the middle of the tutorial was this:
"I can't close the food processor."
"The slicing part of the blade is supposed to be at the top with the stem down. Like an umbrella. Is that how you have it?"
"Oh. Whoops. OK, got it."
At the end of the day, scores of calls later, we had this exchange:
"How was the soup?"
"Kind of dry."
"So you added more water?"
"Oh. No. But it tasted good. I was pretty impressed with myself."
With a cell phone and a Crock-Pot, this independence thing is a snap.