M is starting to become quite interested in cooking. The other night she asked for homemade pizza, so I made up the dough, rested it and then she helped to roll it out and put the topping on, though in her case she hasn't evolved past margarita level yet, just tomato and cheese for her.

She must have really enjoyed the experience for last night we had meatloaf and plain boiled potatoes with some salad. We all ate together and after we finished, M took the plate with the meatloaf and the bowl with leftover potaotes to the kitchen, announcing that she was going to cook.

After about five minutes she emerged from the kitchen with a plate. On it were the potatoes she had squashed flat into a neat circle and over the top she had sprinkled crumbled meatloaf. The squashed potato had been marked into wedges.

"I've made pizza!" she exclaimed, "Would you like some?"

Full or not, we both had a slice of her pizza. Homemade, the best kind.

Thankfully it was better than the last drink she made for me, perfumed pepsi.

Labels: homemade pizza