A few days ago my 7-year-old son grated some cheese, piled it between two slices of bread, and nuked it for a minute. He then ate the whole thing.
I didn’t think much of it. Obviously Sandra had taught him how to make a quick-and-dirty cheese sandwich.
Sandra, however, was puzzled. The only person in the house (up until now, anyway) who grabs materials on hand and synthesizes dishes for which we have no recipe is me. Link just sort of guessed that he could make a cheese sandwich this way, followed through, and fed himself something hot.
I wouldn’t have bothered posting about it, except that he invented a new sandwich again last night: butter, jam, and cheerios. This morning he showed me how to make one, and roped me into prepping a nice butter-jam-and-cheerio sandwich for his lunch.
He’ll never rope me into eating it. If I’m going to eat some weird new dish o’ doom, I’m going to have invented it myself.