As a family that has cut the cord, we haven’t had cable television in about six years. For the most part, it’s been perfectly fine — except when it comes to cooking shows. I genuinely miss spending hours indulging in culinary programming.
Since becoming a parent, I find myself missing the simple joy of watching anything for long stretches. Cooking shows used to be my go-to escape, so when we travel and have access to cable, my family knows what we’ll be tuning into while we prepare for the day or unwind in our hotel room.
During a recent trip, I had plenty of downtime with a baby, which meant I could finally indulge in some cooking shows. I eagerly anticipated discovering new programs featuring food trucks, decadent fried dishes, and outrageous food challenges. It was during one of these marathons that I stumbled upon something completely new: a children’s cooking competition.
I thought it would be an entertaining hour of watching kids whip up grilled cheese and cake pops. I imagined that by the end, a sweet kid named Lily or Max would triumph with their lasagna roll-ups, and my heart would swell when they spoke about using their prize to take their family to a fun amusement park. But then, they started scaling fish. These little chefs were tossing around culinary terms like béchamel and expertly using kosher salt. They were julienning vegetables like it was second nature. There I was, sitting on the couch in my hotel room, eating mac and cheese with ketchup straight out of the pot.
Mouth agape, I realized that these children, barely tall enough to reach the countertop without standing on their parents’ backs, were making me acutely aware of my own lack of achievement, especially in the kitchen. Some were crafting homemade pasta, while others skillfully layered cakes from scratch. They weren’t even using recipes; they just knew what to do.
At their age, I was waking up before dawn to make a special treat for my mom on Mother’s Day. I dug out a children’s cookbook and decided to whip up truffles. The only ingredients I remember are cream cheese, chocolate, and powdered sugar. As it turns out, I couldn’t find anything else in the pantry, so I made do. The only chocolate I found was M&M’s, and I didn’t even know what powdered sugar was! I figured regular sugar would suffice, so I grabbed a bag of granulated sugar. I mixed it all up, rolled the concoction into blobs, and proudly presented my mother with a plate of what I now recognize as Sugar Snot Balls.
The following year, I aimed lower and opted for chocolate-covered fruit. I melted an Easter bunny in the microwave, and during the cooking time, my plastic bowl caught fire, leaving a big hole in one of my grandmother’s mixing bowls.
These memories were once cherished, but now they feel tainted as I watch these prodigious kids. There were seven-year-olds discussing pâte à choux and crafting cream puffs from memory. I’m 31, and I struggle to navigate a cake mix box without getting lost. How did this happen? Do all of these kids have gourmet chefs as grandparents? Where are they learning all of this? Has the school curriculum evolved to include knife skills and culinary arts? While I was grappling with cursive writing and the scientific method, they could have graduated with the ability to crack eggs with one hand. When I imagine a soufflé, I can’t quite picture it because I genuinely have no clue what it is, yet these kids can whip them up effortlessly.
What struck me even more was that these children were genuinely kind to one another. They offered help when someone faced a challenge, and they cried when a fellow contestant was eliminated. There was no drama or backstabbing; they were simply supportive. If I were on a reality show, I’d probably be rolling my eyes and making snarky comments. Not only are these kids incredibly talented, but they also seem to have mastered the art of being decent humans — which only adds to my frustration.
It’s not that I’m offended by the talents of these kids. I’m not upset by child prodigies; it’s the fact that they are outshining me in my own realm. They are excelling in something that I once thought I was good at, and it’s disheartening. I don’t intrude on their turf to showcase my skills in eye-rolling or belting out pop songs. So, kids, stick to your own domain and let me have mine.
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In summary, watching a children’s cooking competition revealed my own kitchen inadequacies and left me feeling like a failure. While these talented kids excel in culinary skills and kindness, I’m still trying to navigate my way through simple meals.