I thought I would cheer up my little daughter by frying up some potatoes for breakfast because she was missing her mom who had gone to work early.

I have not cooked up that particular dish in a long time. I thought it was a good idea -- it reminded me of the fun I had with my brother and sister when we were kids -- we would slice, cook and eat potatoes on summer mornings in Vermont. In those days we kids would have boiled them first (which turns out to be unnecessary if you slice thinly), then put them on the griddle with a little oil until they browned on both sides. A little salt and ketchup and -- tasty feast.

So I made a ceremony of it this morning. The sights and sounds were nostalgic to me. My daughter enjoyed watching (she me peel her potato -- I usually leave the skin on) and was enthusiastic about eating. But then she decided she likes ketchup, but not necessarily potato. She did not seem to have the same history with the dish as I did. I don't think she'll be clamoring for it again.

I felt a little deflated, but I ate up the rest myself. Maybe when she's a little older.

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