This afternoon, after getting home from seeing Ratatouille with Kal (post about that to come), Littlest and I set about figuring out what to do for dinner. There were some boneless pork chops thawed out that we needed to cook, and after throwing together a loaf of Kal's beer bread and popping it into the oven, we got to work. Together we chose the spices and herbs, and while Littlest sliced garlic and onions, I assembled the rest of our mise. We poured some marsala into a bowl and added the garlic and onions, ginger, brown mustard, fresh-ground black pepper, rosemary, bay leaves, and salt. I lined the roasting pan with foil and poured in some of the stuff, laid the chops on top, then poured the rest of it over them. Some more fresh pepper and a little bit of garlic powder, and I sealed the foil and popped the pork chops in with the bread, not really sure whether we'd have something good or something nasty. About 3/4 of the way through the cook time, I opened the foil to let the chops brown some, and took them out when they were done.
They did, in fact, turn out pretty damn tasty. As we were finishing our dinner, I said to Littlest, "Well done, Chef."
He looked at me and said seriously, "I'm not a chef, Mom. I'm a cook."
The fact that he understands the difference just kinda floored me, and I had to share.
