Sell that Yogurt!

I spent alot of my childhood in the kitchen (which oddly isn't really reflected in my cooking skills today). My mom, growing up in a large family with lots of mouths to feed thought it was very important that my sister and I acquire competent cooking skills so that later in life we would be able to not only eat real meals but also cook for others. (Sorry mom) I suppose somewhere in the many hours we spent "helping" her in the kitchen these values were ingrained but to be honest I was too busy to notice at the time. Time spent in the kitchen for ME was more about whipping up disgusting and unrecognizable concoctions and stroking my ego by pretending to 1. be the star of a cooking show or 2. be the star in a commercial (notice the theme here?).
Yes, instead of focusing on making healthy, delicious food for my family I chose to instead practice my fake smile at an imaginary camera and tone my "adult superstar presenter" voice. I practiced stirring while looking at my imaginary audience and telling funny stories. I didn't care so much about how even my batter was so long as I looked good. Lest you think I am the conceited one in the family, my sister did the same thing. Sometimes we would even make guest appearances on each other's "shows" (the kitchen was less noisy that way). Did my mom notice this was going on? Of course. Did she ignore it? Without a doubt. She had much more important things to worry about- like making sure the family wasn't going to be poisoned by my sister and my lack of attention.

Occasionally (if my mom kicked us out of the kitchen in utter exasperation-which is impressive as she is the most patient person I know) we would resort to the less glamorous but still fulfilling, commercial acting. Instead of trying to give our audience helpful tips about cooking or baking we would try to sell household items or food products. Our favorite thing to sell (by far) was yogurt. Carefully we would open the carton by pulling the lid back, every so gently filling our spoon with creamy yogurt-y goodness and murmur a delighted "mmm" . There was NO ONE in that fake audience that didn't want to try our brand of yogurt when we were done. NO ONE. Not only did I learn about brand loyalty but these play commercials were a wonderful opportunity to practice my accents (which would come in handy as a fun way to entertain myself at the bar).

The best days though, were not as famous superstars on a critically acclaimed cooking show (because of course the imaginary critics loved us) no, the best days were "concoction days". A concoction day was a day when my mother decided to forgo teaching us the logistics behind baking brownies or chocolate chip cookies and let us come up with our own (in)edible dishes. We would go crazy on these days. No longer bound by the strict regulations of a recipe we would pull spices and sauces and baking ingredients from the kitchen cabinets and create a bigger melting pot than all of America. Somehow these mixtures, despite the fact that we used different ingredients every time, always ended up looking the same. Rachel and I were, in fact, the world's foremost chefs in making inedible brown mush. To this day I don't understand why the FoodNetwork never approached us as shining examples in the cooking world. It sounds easy but its harder than one thinks to create a mixture that looks and tastes like death. At the end of our concoction session it was our parent's duty to taste-test the salve and give us a raving review (thats positive parenting right there) and they always did.

Despite my mother's best intentions my sister and I still rely way too heavily on that wonderful modern invention, the microwave. If I've learned anything though from my time under those bright kitchen lights it is this- perfect that smile, learn to wink and find someone (anyone) who will cook for you. Because like the wall hanging Rachel and I have up in our kitchen says, we definitely kiss better than we cook.