Scrambled

Well, we've started a restaurant, of sorts. (It still hasn't been reviewed on Yelp.)

It started like this. One morning back in September, Celia and I were making scrambled eggs. Or, rather, she was--I was merely supervising, having passed on all of my knowledge about proper scrambling technique to her over the past few years. (And she has become an expert cook; she only really needs me to turn on the stove and spray the pan with oil.)

"Daddy," she said, "we should open a restaurant!"

I thought this was a great idea.

"We should call it Scrambled!" I replied. Or maybe it was the other way around--I forget. The point is that we both thought opening a restaurant made perfect sense, and that Scrambled was the perfect name.

Celia became giddy with excitement. And so we talked about all of the different things we could offer--eggs, of course, and also pancakes in two varieties: chocolate chip and plain. Chocolate milk went on the menu. So did fruit salad.

Then we talked about how the restaurant would operate. We would need menus. A sign, too! (It's on the back door.) And while most of the kids meals usually take place at the small table in the kitchen, Scrambled would require a more formal location--the dining room table. The plan was set.

Since that day a few months ago, Celia and I have opened Scrambled three times--and it's been amazing each time. She helps with all the cooking, and she thinks of specials that we should add to the menu. (For last night's guacamole special, she cut and mashed all the avocados almost all by herself.)

Of course the other kids want to help too--Lucia especially--so during prep time, the kitchen ends up being more crowded than the restaurant. But when it's time to eat, they all head out to the big table to await the waitress (Celia) who expertly takes orders and relays complaints to the sous-chef (me). It's all very theatrical, and there's a lot of laughing. Maybe next time I can convince Andres to be my busboy and dishwasher...