The kid watched this with rapt attention. Eggs Benedict (or Eggs Benedict Arnold, as he called them when he was smaller — and I’ve called them that ever since, even though he’s stopped) are one of his favorite meals, breakfast or otherwise.
After the show, he said, “We should have eggs Benedict.”
“We agree,” we said right away. “And if those worst cooks in America can make them, so can you. And yours would probably be even better.”
“Ok,” he said.
So the next Saturday, I coached him. I just gave him step by step instructions and tips along the way. He did the whole thing. And he did it. The whole thing: poached eggs, hollandaise (“holiday”) sauce, Canadian bacon, toasted English muffin. It was delicious.
And, he liked it so much himself that he made it again the next Saturday morning, too!
But just when we were getting used to having eggs Benedict Arnold every Saturday morning, he went on a sleepover at a friend’s house last Friday night.
We pointed out that we’d missed his cooking on Saturday afternoon when he got home. He promised to make them again this Saturday.
Life is good.