Not a chef coat. A milestone.
Parents don't buy jackets. They buy the photo on the fridge. The Saturday-morning story they'll tell at the wedding. The tiny serious face stirring like a real chef. We just made the coat the kid wears in the picture.
The very serious chef face.
Eyebrows down. Tongue out the side. Spooning sauce like the meal depends on it. Because it does.
The flour bomb.
One clap of the hands and the whole kitchen turns into a snow globe. They will remember this. So will you.
The Saturday cook-along.
Pizza oven on. Dough on the counter. Six bowls of toppings he's already eaten half of. Pure ritual.
"I made it myself."
Said with absolute conviction. Said while you watch. Said in the chef coat that made it real.