Iron Chef

I'm not particularly fond of the kitchen. I don't think the kitchen likes me back either. Thankfully this isn't about my culinary misadventures but those of a four-year old over here at our home. While many kids lug around their favorite dinosaurs and cars, he carries a recipe book. While most kids his age would have chosen a basketball clinic or swimming lessons for the summer, Tato asked to go to cooking class. Because apart from wanting to be a construction worker to help build his brother's future safari, he has decided he also wants to be a "cooker". I can't quite place when he first fell in love with the idea. If watching MacDaddy roll pizza dough did it for him or if that time the chef in the teppanyaki restaurant (with those fancy samurai knife moves) gave him his aha! moment.

This is Tato with Project: Biko. Sticky rice, coconut milk and a whole lot of love. Not quite priceless. This one priced at one peso per platter. Free delivery included.

The life of an Iron Chef isn't complete without the world's best partner-in-crime sous chef. Who happily helps buy the ingredients. Who wipes every plate clean. And who guarantees two thumbs-up for every dish well done.

Down with tonsillitis a few days ago, the only thing he wanted to do to cheer himself up was cook chapjae for all of us. Hell, we aren't complaining over here. He didn't exactly have to twist our arms to try the spinach ricotta dish he took home from cooking school or munch on those extra brownies lying around the house. Step aside, Mario Batali. Move over, Flay. Oh... and you're not alone, Oprah. We've got ourselves an in-house chef. And he's free!