Bobby’s cooking class

Restaurant_chef and teddiesIt all started when we all went out for my special birthday dinner at a restaurant with a big, open kitchen. Bobby was intrigued, watching the chefs as they chopped and sliced and melted and stirred. He was especially interested in the lady chef, “Did you see the beautiful chocolate tart she just made?” he asked in amazement. “It looks quite easy. Can I learn to make one of those too?”

And so we decided to take Bobby to a cooking class – one that specialised in deserts – so we’d all have something to enjoy afterwards.

The very first challenge was keeping Bobby sitting still while our teacher explained and then demonstrated how we would make today’s first dish: chocolate tart with honey cinnamon ice cream. When Bobby saw the chocolate, honey, cinnamon, sugar and butter all layed out on the bench in front of him, he responded as he does at home –reaching out to take advantage of a little something yummy right under his nose.

Fortunately, grot boy found a little sweet buried deep in his pocket, and while it was rather old and stale it kept Bobby happy and distracted for a while.

The serious problems came when it was our turn to try making the complex recipe in the short time available. Grot boy and I were so busy trying to chop and stir and check the recipe, then churn the ice cream and roll out the pastry that we didn’t keep a close watch on what Bobby was up to.

I had naively assumed that he would be happy to just sit and watch but he wanted to help and had wondered off to join one of the other groups.

When we heard a little cry, “Ouch, I didn’t know honey was hot!” we recognised Bobby’s plaintive cry. “I was just checking to see if the honey had gone all soft and runny like the man asked,” Bobby explained. “I can’t read the thermomometre thing so I dipped my paw in.”

Bandaged BobbyAfter a brief pause to bandage up Bobby, grot boy and I resumed our cooking until we heard a man’s loud voice at Bobby’s table saying, “I think little bears should keep away from knives.” I rushed over and grabbed Bobby just as he was grabbing hold of the biggest chopping knife. “The teacher told us we should cut up the butter very fine to make the pastry. Don’t you remember?” Bobby said, as if this would calm everyone down.

Not wanting to dampen Bobby’s enthusiasm for cooking, or make us look like negligent teddy bear parents, grot boy rescued the situation by distracting him. “Bobby, why don’t you come and sit at our table and taste test our ice cream to see if it’s as good as your favourite gelato?”

Everyone was happy with this solution and we all resumed work, eager to finish cooking and start eating.

After the trauma of Bobby’s accidents in the cooking class, grot boy was unusually firm. “From now on, Bobby can only help Mrs Grot in the kitchen by stirring the cake mix. He is not to go anywhere near knives and stoves.”

©, 2014


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