I think I may have inspired my dad to spend more time in the kitchen. He came to stay with us when I had the baby, and part of the deal was that he had to help out: cooking, running errands, cleaning. I couldn't imagine he would hold up his end of the bargain. My dad didn't seem like the type.

But he really rose to the occasion. He scrubbed the spot on the kitchen floor where my old stove used to sit until you could actually see the floor underneath. He made spaghetti, eggs, Thanksgiving dinner with pumpkin pie and mashed potatoes. I guess he went home to Colorado and made a roast for my mom, brother and sister-in-law, and a couple more pies.

Now he's back and he's still cooking and cleaning. We made jambalaya last night (I was his sous-chef).

He's semi-retired and I think he's found a new hobby. Maybe my interest in cooking is genetic?