I’ve dabbled in cooking, but it’s been awhile since I’ve created anything more than dinners with yogurt, lunch with tortillas and dinner with tortillas. I had this romantic image when I was pregnant with my first child that I’d transfer all that culinary experience I had into delicious, savory meals for my daughter. She’d grow up eating sautéed gold squash, clean her little dish when I served her pesto artichokes, and giggle in delight when I again served our her favorite Indian curry for the second time that week.

Ha! laughed the gods of parenting. Ha! Ha! Ha!

I made that squash, froze it; and threw it out. One time when friends came to visit Costa Rica, they had two children. Touring is a challenge with kids. Even in a car; even with DVDs; even with Nintendo; even with the scenery. Kids get hungry. ALL THE TIME. The gods of parenting forget to tell us that basically kids are hungry ALL THE TIME and that they will prefer sugar - in any form - over any other type of food. I struggle with my daughter when I travel, and I live here. This mother valiantly braved the switch-backs, Spanish, and hot weather with her two children. We received our lunch at a coffee plantation we’d stop to take a tour of, and the youngest child didn’t like the sandwich. Plain old white bread sandwiches are tough to find here. And this one came with mayonnaise. Mayonnaise! Imagine the horror! The sandwich was returned, and about 15 minutes later, the slab of carbohydrates (notice it’s sugar) came back to the child. He snubbed his nose at it. Everyone else was restless and had finished eating.

The mother promptly reached over the table, opened a pack of sugar, and poured it onto the child’s tongue. Then, she opened the sandwich and put it on the meat. The boy took a couple of bites. You bet I was judgmental then. Sure, my attempts at sautéed squash failed, but this? I was above that. Oh, how I learned.

My two children drop me to my knees about an average of once a day with another lesson in parenting. On a long road trip, I might not carry white packets of sugar, but you can bet I’ll pack a few candy bars or lollipops. At home, I continually shrug my shoulders at the bag of candy Coco - and now Addison - will come home with. I fight it. I give in. I fight it. I give in. (Repeat until thoroughly confused and blended).

So, the opportunity to cook for a few friends was a joy. The ingredients in Costa Rica are so fresh and bountiful. I sautéed the curry chicken and inhaled the smell as it mingled with the figs. The marinated Italian vegetables snapped with color. The Parmesan crisps filled my house with the aroma of a Pizzeria. All the while, I listened to the radio (one of my favorite pastimes) and felt this subtle joy that I was creating something with a snippet of spirit and a touch of arty flare.

I could have been mistaken for someone on the Food Network up until that last hour. I kept slipping in oil that I’d spilled on the floor; burnt a pan of Parmesan crisps; and I forgot to put the Feta in the dip. (I always forget the Feta!). The meal was delicious, and I think I ate more than anyone else. Good food serves the soul and appeases the gods all at the same time.

The networks should be calling any day.