How a Top New York Chef Bakes With Her Kids

Baking with kids is a joy and a mess, whatever your approach. You hope to get something edible, but it’s hardly the point. Their feverish glee of mixing, tasting, topping and gorging is worth signing up for every Sunday morning.

Muffins are the thing my four young sons and I bake together most often. Though I’m a professional chef, I cast any cheffyness aside; there’s really no way to go wrong here. It doesn’t matter if the muffin batter has been overmixed, or if the kids have been heavy-handed with the cinnamon — the way I bake with my kids has slowly evolved in a Darwinian sense. Over time, I’ve realized that removing some unnecessary battles leaves more room for the parts they enjoy.

I’m more likely to survive the morning if the muffins have less sugar. And I’m less likely to become a nagging matron if they’re nourishing enough that I don’t have to ration them. Instead of using refined sugar, I cream dates and a little maple syrup into the butter. I use an extra egg or two for protein, and I feed the batter fiber: flaxseed or nut meal or both.

I also make it happen quickly. Short attention spans and the need for instant gratification are not usually to be catered to, but Sunday is different. We don’t want to wait for butter to soften, and I’d rather not melt it. So as soon as the kids start singing, “Three little muffins in the bakery shop, you know the kind with the honey and the nuts on the top,” we whip out the food processor and go: Oven on. Dates and butter, straight from the fridge, in. Whizz, whizz, whizz.

Yes, kids love beating the butter by hand. But they’re useless at it. They give absolutely no elbow grease. Better to challenge their little craniums by working out how to lock the lid onto the food processor, and then reward them with the thrill of pressing pulse. Over and over again. Everybody gets a turn!

Then there’s room for the essential ingredient: personal expression. Once the batter is spooned into the tins, it’s time for a treasure hunt and a bit more mess. I let the kids rummage through the spice drawer, pantry and fruit bowl, choosing their decorations and scattering them over the tops before they carry the tray all together to the oven door, where I slide it in. Just 20 minutes of staring through the glass, waiting for the muffins to puff up, learning they’re too hot to eat (the hard way), and leaving a trail of crumbs all over the house.

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