The first thing I ever cooked — or rather made — by myself in the kitchen was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I was about 5-years-old at time, and my family, all four of us with one on the way, lived cramped in a 700 square foot studio apartment. Oh, and during the week, my Grandpa lived there with us too as he worked as contractor on the home my parents were building.
I am not what you would call an aficionado of pb&j. I certainly ate my fair share of it as a child, but probably haven’t eaten one in 10 years. I remember making this particular sandwich for my younger brother Jonathan. As I made it, he played supervisor. He tried to caution me against pressing too hard with the knife on the soft, overly-processed white bread. And I’m sure he also attempted to get me to cut the crusts off it, which, as a proto-feminist, I surely scoffed at.
When I finished and proudly handed it him, Jonathan frowned and pointed out that he wasn’t going to eat it as I’d broken through the bread. Yes, the first thing I ever made in a kitchen was rejected. Ironically, 20+ years later, my brother would wholeheartedly eat about any food put in front of him, including pb&js with knife holes in the bread. I also bake my own bread now.
Inspired by the First Meal I Ever Cooked question over on Gluten-Free Girl’s blog.
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