Growing up, I was one of what I'm assuming is an infinitesimal amount of middle school boys who were eager for the end of the school day — not to get to sports practice, but to get into the kitchen.
I would make crab legs and roasted red pepper sauce and chicken dishes galore. I remember once, when my brother was hosting an exchange student and the student's guardian came to the house and saw me cooking, she sheepishly asked my mother "... you make your son do the cooking?"
