I got married two years ago, acquiring a vegetable-loving husband, his three kids and his collection of kitchen appliances. I was unexpectedly excited by some of the last, such as the gas range with a warming drawer, and some not — the griddle and slow-cooker are a yawn. And then the wafflemaker found its way into my rotation.
About a month after the wedding, I happened upon a way to make cauliflower waffles in an old cookbook of mine. I’d had the book for 10 years but had never noticed the recipe. I chose to make the waffles for dinner that night because I thought it would make the kids giggle, which they did. I’ve continued to make them since, because they’re delicious.
Cooking for seven (we’ve added a baby and an au pair to our family) has helped me noodle my way through learning to parent my three insta-kids. They are sometimes eager helpers, sometimes indifferent bystanders, sometimes both — within a span of five minutes.
While helping me make the waffles, the kids have learned how to beat egg whites and fold them into the batter. They have also learned that licking the egg-white beater is kind of gross, and that if you let go of the lid of the wafflemaker before it’s closed, it will come crashing down and annoy The Mother. The kids gleefully quiz guests about the waffles’ “secret” ingredient.