Welcome to my Chef Tony Series, the cooking series where the recipes are mostly Meema’s tried and trues, the health-code violations are plentiful, and my sous chef is a 2½-year-old boy named Chef Tony who has absolutely no culinary training but somehow has the confidence of a man who owns three restaurants.
Tonight’s menu?
Chicken cutlets.
A classic staple of the Italian-American household. I realize we have previously discussed that, biologically I lack any and all Italian components, HOWEVER – my upbringing and SOUL belong in Naples.
A kid-pleasing meal that brings all the comforts of family. The ingredients, the smells, the mouth watering feeling that is a chicken cutlet.
What could possibly go wrong?
Spoiler: I invited a toddler.
Meet Chef Tony
Chef Tony is 2½.
His résumé includes:
Opening the pantry 47 times a day, while asking for the same “cookies” on repeat.
Eating “nacks” directly from the bag in said pantry.
Insisting everything needs to be mixed and stirred in a fury.
And screaming “I HELP!” whenever I attempt to perform a task that requires fine motor skills, common sense or an understanding of salmonella.
Naturally, I put him in charge of dinner.
Tonight, Chef Tony will be learning the fine art of breading chicken cutlets.
What Chef Tony actually learned was that breadcrumbs are essentially indoor sand. He loves sand at school. I do NOT love “sand” in my kitchen.
Fantastic.
First, We Prepare Our Breading Station
Anyone who has ever made chicken cutlets knows the regular setup: Flour. Egg. Breadcrumb. Chicken. Nice little well organized assembly line. Unless you grew up Italian in North Jersey. Enter the Locatelli.
Now, my mom used to skip the flour and go straight into the egg. Good thing, because Tony is an expert egg cracker – I mean, most of it ends up everywhere but the bowl, but we’ve been working on cracking them in the actual bowl these days since eggs are so damn pricey! We give em a twirl and hit the eggs with a healthy portion of Locatelli Pecorino – we now have the equivalent to a paste thicker than Elmer’s glue. And that’s ok. It will all be ok. Trust the process!
Until you add Tony.
I carefully show him how we mix our sludge and hand over the fork so he can stir himself silly as i prep the chicken. Tony nods and takes the Almighty fork and tasmanian devils the lumpy yellow mixture with the happiness of a kid on Christmas. I take the chicken breasts (don’t worry, I always wear gloves because I don’t like to touch stuff!) and I begin the thin slicing process of a well trained daughter. Each chicken breast gets at least four to five nice cutlets out of them and I slice and plop into Tony’s bowl.
He understands the assignment and swishes the additions around, covering them. No instructions needed. It’s in his DNA.
I prep the next plate. Breadcrumbs. Here’s where the going gets good. Into the deep plate goes Italian seasoned breadcrumbs, Locatelli – let’s hope your household has the big container because that little one won’t make the cut, enough garlic to keep Dracula at bay, and a palm full of parsley. I utter the words, “OK, my man, let’s mix this!”
His sparkle at the thought was amazing. Two whole little hands land in the plate. Pretty sure I’ve shot my eye out with breadcrumbs and am partially blinded as he is just grabbing and tossing. Surprisingly, most of it remains in the plate. It’s dip time.
Okay.
I demonstrate. I pick up a cutlet and let the egg drip off, I lay it atop the breadcrumb and then flip to the other side before placing it in my hot olive oiled drenched pan. “OK, bud, yout turn.” I close one eye and begin to pray.
Egg.
Breadcrumbs.
BACK INTO THE EGG.
No.
No, sir.
We’re not going backward. This is a one-way street. But Chef Tony resisted traditional culinary restrictions. He’s an innovator.
The Breadcrumb Situation Escalates
At some point, Chef Tony realizes breadcrumbs can be sprinkled.
This discovery changes everything.
A little on the chicken. A little more. Some on the counter. Some on the floor. Some apparently inside his sleeve. I turn around for approximately four seconds. There are breadcrumbs everywhere.
How?
There weren’t even this many breadcrumbs in the container. Chef Tony is apparently multiplying them.
Jesus had loaves and fishes.
Tony has Italian breadcrumbs and Locatelli.
RAW CHICKEN HANDS
Here’s a fun one no books on tiny humans addresses properly:
Trying to prevent a 2½-year-old who just touched raw chicken from immediately touching every object you’ve ever owned.
“Tony, hands up.”
Hands go up. I remind him that we have a fork and we spear the chicken to dip.
“Don’t touch with hands, only the fork.”
He understands. I know this because he whispers, “yes,” in that soft tiny voice that I adore. We are safe.
NOOOOOOOOO.
I intercept one tiny chicken hand approximately two centimeters from his face.
This is no longer dinner preparation.
This is bomb disposal.
“Dude, the fork! Use the fork!!!!” He is dumbfounded. A fork, you say? This fork – he holds up the fork for my approval and promptly drops it – he moves in with the hands near the raw chicken…. “Hands up my dddduuuuuuuddddeeee,” i squeal and his little arms shot up and he looked like a deer in the headlights.
Now Tony is standing in the kitchen like he’s being arrested.
Truly?
Accurate. Yes. The chicken police were closing in.
Time for Mac & Cheese
Once the chicken situation is contained and we’ve washed our hands approximately 37 thousand times, we move on to something safer.
Mac & cheese. Finally. Something easy.
I pour the pasta into the pot. Ya know the one, the pot of BOILING water. Tony is devastated. Apparently he was supposed to pour it. So now we must emotionally process this betrayal before dinner can continue.
After negotiations, I allow Chef Tony to handle the cheese. This immediately restores diplomatic relations.
I hand him the cheese bag. I opt for shredded cheddar so we don’t have to hassle with a grater and grated fingers. He immediately grabs a few pieces of cheese. Seemingly, he has become a quality control specialist in a split second.
“Pour it in slowly.”
Why do adults continue saying the word slowly to toddlers? Has that ever worked? Safe to say, not in my lifetime.
Tony dumps the entire packet in approximately 0.003 seconds. Cheese shreds explode into the air. For one beautiful moment, my kitchen looks like a nuclear event sponsored by Kraft.
The counter is cheesy. The spoon is cheesy. I may now be orange. Tony, however, is thrilled with his progress. “MORE!” signing and speaking – the boy is serious about his cheese. Absolutely.
Let’s make this worse. Let’s add some cream!
Stirring: Chef Tony’s Moment to Shine
If there’s one thing Chef Tony takes seriously, it’s stirring. He grips the spoon. I hold the pot.
“Gentle.”
He stirs.
“Gentle, Tony.”
He stirs faster.
“Buddy… gentle.”
We have now reached industrial mixer speed. Macaroni begins escaping. One noodle hits the floor. Tony stops. Looks down. Looks at me. Looks back at the noodle. Then nose dives for it and it’s down the hatch before this grandma can shout the word no.
Thank you, Chef.
Dinner Is Served
Eventually, against all odds, we have food. Golden chicken cutlets. Creamy mac & cheese.It actually looks good.. This is the moment. He helped make it. He’s excited. Surely he’s going to eat it. And he does! He eats his, mine, and anyone else’s who isn’t properly guarding their plate.
Sir.
WE JUST MADE CHICKEN.
Not just chicken. Chicken that you personally breaded. Chicken we spent 45 minutes preparing. Chicken that required me to disinfect half the kitchen and possibly burn your shirt. But apparently that’s irrelevant. Chef Tony wants to bask in his moment.
Chef Tony’s Official Review
Chicken cutlets: Delicious. Mac & cheese: Delectable. Breadcrumbs directly from the container: Five stars. Shredded cheese stolen during preparation: Exceptional. Grandma’s patience: Overcooked.
Kitchen floor: Breaded. Would Chef Tony cook here again? Unfortunately, yes. He lives here.
And that concludes another episode of Cooking With a Toddler, where we’re teaching children valuable life skills while simultaneously destroying our kitchens and questioning every grandparenting decision that brought us to this moment.
Chef Tony learned how to bread chicken.
I learned that a toddler can somehow get breadcrumbs inside a closed drawer and their diaper while remaining fully dressed and neither of us knows how. Ahhhh a good mystery!
But dinner was made. Memories were made. And somewhere underneath approximately six pounds of breadcrumbs… I believe there’s still a kitchen floor.
Until next time, when Chef Tony once again puts on his apron and confidently attempts a recipe he’s never heard of.
I’ll bring the ingredients.
Tony will bring the chaos.
And, obviously…
I’ll bring the coffee. Medium roast with lots of half and half.
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