My youngest girl, Pinta, is getting smarter and smarter. She's two-and-a-half, but there's no fooling her. She likes to come into the kitchen, look up at the stove, and ask "What you making daddy?"
I point out to her whatever I'm cooking, unless I decide it is in my best interest not do do so. This evening, for example, I had two big pots going on the stove. One of chicken-rice soup and another of Bolognese, which happens to be one of her favorite things to eat lately.
I wasn't planning to serve the Bolognese for dinner. In the refrigerator there was a pound of fluke that needed to be eaten. The fish was for dinner, not pasta. I didn't want anyone else getting any other ideas.
So when she asked me, "What you making daddy," I said that I had some chicken soup going. She looked at me and said "I smell Bolognese." Indeed, she did.