Sweet Disasters

Remember the first time you tried to bake with the “help” of a small child? I do. I had one kid back then. A very high-energy toddler. A toddler so energetic that even a modest dose of sugar—or those freaky chemicals found in so many packaged foods—nudged her into a level of frenzy usually only seen amongst startled squirrels.

For reasons that no longer make sense to me, I decided that for our first family cooking event, we’d make rice krispies squares. Everyone told me they were super-easy to make. You can’t go wrong! everyone said.

Everyone lied. Yes, you can go wrong making rice krispies squares. I know, because I did it.

The morning started off calmly enough. I put a gob of butter in the pan, dumped in the big bag of marshmallows (except the handful that I gave to my toddler to keep her entertained) and waited. Soon, I was frantically scraping molten marshmallow foam off the sides of the pot while holding onto Frenzy Child’s diaper so she wouldn’t climb right onto the stove. She’d had her first taste of marshmallows and was determined to eat the rest of them, even though they’d now liquified into a nasty mess that was probably never going to wash off the pot.

I’d just dumped in the cereal when I noticed an odd smell filling the room. The marshmallows smelled like…playdough. I decided to read the ingredients listed on the bag while I stirred, and that’s when it hit me: I’d just fed my already-hyper kid something that contained no recognizable food ingredients whatsoever. Marshmallows, I discovered, are made from the same chemicals as the bags in which they’re packaged. Plus sugar.

There would be no quiet time, no nap time and no calm, sleepy bedtime tonight. And it was too late to change recipes. She’d tasted marshmallow bliss, and would not stop begging until she’d eaten the final product—rice chemical squares.

I tried to spread the batter in the greased pan. It wouldn’t spread. Unfortunately, while I’d been trying to figure out how to pronounce the ingredients listed on the marshmallow bag, the batter had cooled. It could not be coaxed out of the ball shape that it had acquired in the pot.

I had created a rice krispie melon. This is a dessert which looks like an anemic cantaloupe with a blistered skin disorder, emits the delicate aroma of playdough and will make chemical-sensitive toddlers behave as if you accidentally put espresso in their sippy cups.

When kid number two came along, our first family cooking event was fruit and cheese kebabs.

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