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Of course for me there was (and always will be) plenty to learn as well. Cooking nearly every meal during the year of confinement allowed both of us to fully immerse ourselves in the kitchen. What I can say is that while he was here, Wylie grew up culinarily. I definitely taught him to make corn tortillas and miso soup, soufflés and Chinese dumplings. I’m pretty sure that’s when I taught him how to deglaze a pan, though he’ll probably dispute that. He spent the last year of his time in college in Los Angeles wowing his housemates with Santa Maria barbecues or giant pans of baked ziti.īut when he rejoined us a year and a half ago to regroup post-college and embark on a job search, he still had a lot to learn - as we all do.

He asked for a crepe pan for his birthday when he was, I think, seven. I can’t exactly say that while Wylie was here I taught him to cook. The sweet part is my feeling of gratefulness for the time we all had together - Wylie was with us during the entire pandemic.

The reasons for the bitter part of bittersweet are obvious. It’s a scene that’s been happening all across the country during recent weeks, apparently, as life begins to return to normal. Wylie, my 24 year-old son and partner-in-cooking during The Great Confinement, finished packing up his silver Honda Fit, took one last look around to see what he left behind (inoperable culinary blowtorch, heavy suede jacket, melancholy parents) and - with his girlfriend Nathalie in the passenger seat - hit the road for California.

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