Photo courtesy of Laura T. Coffey

Handy tip from the book "OMG Pancakes": Kids love to help stir food coloring into pancake batter.

I don’t cook. It scares me. I wish I didn’t feel this way, but I think it’s a hazard of being married to a man who seriously likes to cook. The guy is always in the kitchen “deglazing” things and “reducing” things and finding uses for baffling ingredients like pomegranates and crème fraîche.

Me? I know how to boil water. I also can make coffee and chill beer. Beyond that basic skill set, though, I’m lost. As a consequence, our 3-year-old Tyler eats LOTS of raw fruits and vegetables. He also eats plenty of grainy bread (plain), cheese (not in a grilled-cheese sandwich or anything, just ... cheese), and oatmeal. (Oh yeah! I also can nuke oatmeal!) He eats plenty of actual meals, too – prepared by Dad.

So you can imagine how thrilled I was when an idea hatched to have me, of all people, attempt to make a magical pancake animal from the new cookbook “OMG Pancakes! 75 Cool Creations Your Kids Will Love to Eat.” Specifically, I was charged with making a 3D pancake giraffe.

TODAY Bites: Bored with breakfast? Play with your pancakes

I pointed out that I had never, ever made a pancake before. Not even the regular, two-dimensional, blob-shaped kind.

But this “OMG Pancakes” book filled me with that familiar, primal urge: I really want to cook for my kid! Not just feed him – cook for him. When he’s all grown up, I don’t want him to say, “Ahhhh, just like Mom used to buy.” I want him to say, “Ahhhh, just like Mom used to make!”

I could tell right away that I liked cookbook author Jim Belosic, a bona-fide Leonardo da Vinci of hotcakes. He opens by reminiscing about his Dad, who managed to mess up pancakes the two times he made breakfast during the author’s childhood. Still, Belosic thought his Dad was the “coolest guy ever” for trying. (This detail gave me courage.)

Belosic started out making pancake animals for the amusement of his 3-year-old daughter, Allie. Allie loved them – and she didn’t care how the animals turned out.

“The first time I tried a 3D pancake, it fell over and made a big mess,” Belosic told TODAY.com. “We laughed and ate it, then tried to make another one. ...

Photo courtesy of Laura T. Coffey

Ooops. Writer Laura T. Coffey loses a giraffe tail in the heat of battle.

“The great part is to have your kid present when trying, and when you fail they get a good kick out of it. ... When kids are involved, you’re working on solving a problem together.”

It’s difficult to describe how nervous I was when the time came to attempt my pancake giraffe. I carefully followed the instructions in the book – which are quite easy to follow, even for a novice. The instructions point out ideal moments for getting young children involved, such as when it’s time to add food coloring to the batter. At one point Tyler said, “We make a great team, Mommy.” (Awesome!!)

Oh yes, I had a few disasters. My first attempt at the giraffe’s head burned to such a crisp that I worried it would go up in flames. I also destroyed my first two attempts at the giraffe’s body, largely because of sloppy flipping techniques. One of the giraffe bodies came SO CLOSE to making the grade – but then I accidentally amputated the tail.

Photo courtesy of Laura T. Coffey

Laura's improvised two-dimensional giraffe pancake is pictured alongside the glorious 3D version on the cover of Jim Belosic's "OMG Pancakes" book.

Finally, I had all the sections of the giraffe’s body built: head; torso with tail, and two sets of legs. Now for the moment of truth: Would this giraffe stand tall and proud when I fit the sections together like puzzle pieces?

Ummmm, no. Each giraffe section was too floppy to stand, despite my best efforts (and Tyler’s excited anticipation).

Not the end of the world, though! Fortunately for me, the book contained instructions for a two-dimensional giraffe for just this contingency. So, I improvised: Tyler got a pancake that resembled a giraffe resting on a plate because the giraffe was tired.

Photo by Laura T. Coffey

Satisfied customer: Tyler gobbles up his giraffe pancake with gusto.

It not only worked – it was a hit. Tyler gobbled up the pancake, and I felt a surge of relief combined with the realization that if I could kind of/sort of make a pancake giraffe, anybody out there could kind of/sort of make a pancake giraffe. If you’re reading this and you think it might entertain your kid, it’s worth a shot – and it didn’t even take too much time.

I’m now so motivated that I’m already plotting my next breakfast masterpiece: A GREEN AND BROWN PANCAKE DINOSAUR. Even if it doesn’t look perfect, I’m fairly certain that it will blow Tyler’s mind.

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Wilson Rothman

The writer's son enjoying (or at least playing with) homemade spinach-and-potato puree.

I am a capable cook, but the first time I set out to make baby food I failed. Miserably. So badly that I determined never to try again. It took two and a half years before I gave it another go. I'm happy to report that now, I make most of the food for my little 7-month-old dude, and it's easy, healthy — and even tasty.

Because of all the local-eating, five-ingredient, all-natural "real" food movements, the pressure to make your own baby food is higher than ever. By the time our daughter hit 6 months, I had become convinced that every other parent on the planet was doing it, and things got a bit stressful.

One day, my wife came home with an acorn squash. My assignment: Make pureed squash for our daughter's lunch the next day. I've cooked acorn squash millions of times — it was a standard in my mother's repertoire when I was growing up, and I would assist in the (over) application of butter and brown sugar once the halves came hot out of the oven. But I knew cooking for a baby meant cooking the food straight, with as little seasoning or manipulation as possible.

So I roasted it. Bare.

I didn't use oil or salt or anything. The outer edge of the pulp was dried like fruit leather. I went deep and scooped out what I could. It was a mess, and a waste of squash, and my kid didn't exactly enjoy it either.

Next, I tried boiling the squash — which is actually what many baby-food cookbooks tell you to do — but that turned out soupy and watered down. I'm no nutritionist, but even I could tell at least some of what's good about squash was getting carried away in the orangish water that I poured down the sink. Besides, boiling was just as messy.

Though some people seem to like the Beaba baby food steamer/blender sold at Williams-Sonoma and other high-end stores, I was against buying a $150 piece of equipment specifically for this brief period in my child's life. So from that day on, I swore I'd buy the jarred stuff, and fie on any parent or day care teacher who wanted to look down their noses at me for it. Hey, at least it's organic!

Wilson Rothman

SousVide Supreme Demi

Fast-forward to our second child, entering the solid food stage. Coincidence: For my birthday, at around the same time, I had just bought myself a $300 contraption called a SousVide Supreme. Little did I know that this kitchen nerd's indulgence would turn out to be the ultimate baby-food maker.

"Sous vide" cooking is where you vacuum-seal your meat or vegetables in food-safe plastic (I use a FoodSaver), then immerse it in a water bath heated to a specific temperature until the food uniformly reaches that same heat. This gadget, which looks like a big cooler, provides the precision water temperature.

All plant-based foods cook at the same point, 185 degrees Fahrenheit — it's the temperature required to break down the rigid walls of plant cells. It generally takes a half hour (or less) to cook vegetables in the SousVide Supreme, especially when you precut them. But if you leave the veggies in for a few hours, something magical happens: They turn to total mush. Baby-food consistency, without even a blender.

I put two and two together pretty quickly: Cut up starchy vegetables — potato, yam, kabocha squash, zucchini — or firm fruits — pear, apple, kiwi, banana — seal them up individually or in clever melanges, and then drop the bags in the bath. Two untended hours later, out comes prepackaged baby food, cooked at a germ-killing 185 degrees, and safely sealed away. Cut a corner of the plastic to serve up the paste with no mess. Or leave it in the wrap, storing it in fridge or freezer for later use.

Wilson Rothman

Spinach and potatoes at left; kabocha squash on the right.

Best of all, I used no additives, and none of the nutrients were boiled away or watered down. Out came the same exact thing that went in, only more friendly to the infant stomach. My new mission is finger foods: I just cut zucchini sticks and keep them in the water bath for just under an hour, so they are still somewhat firm, but easy for a kid with just two teeth to manage. I will next attempt yam fries — minus the frying, of course.

The SousVide Supreme does many other things — you should try the lobster and steak that come out of the thing (just don't share them with your kids). But at this particular moment, it's the vehicle of my culinary redemption, or at least the right tool to help a lazy cook like me feel accomplished. I'm making baby food, something I swore I'd never do, and it feels good.

I'm not saying you should feel pressure to make your own — though if you do, take a look at "Easy Gourmet Baby Food," by Jordan Wagman and Jill Hillhouse, which tends to live up to its name. I'm certainly not saying that you should buy a SousVide Supreme, either — most baby-food recipes require only basic cookware. I am saying that kitchen failures don't go down on your permanent record. If you ever get a chance to revisit one, take it, and make good use of the wisdom gleaned from your past mistakes.

Watch celebrity chef Tom Colicchio talk about the baby food he makes for his son:

Previously from Wilson Rothman:

• Man meets meat: Joining the butchering trend, knife-first

Wilson is the deputy tech and science editor for msnbc.com and TODAY.com, but whatever free time is left over after working and raising two kids, he spends in his kitchen. Needless to say, it's never enough. You can catch up with him on Twitter at @wjrothman.

Getty Images file

By Alex Smith

I don’t really know how to cook. That’s one thing if you’re a single guy with a cupboard full of takeout menus, but as a married father of two, it has put a bit of pressure on my wife, being that she’s the sole member of the household who knows how to actually prepare meals that involve more than operating a toaster. The fact that my wife is also a remarkably resourceful and accomplished cook doesn’t help matters. One could argue that she’s enabling my culinary incompetence.

When I was about 12 years old, I remember my stepfather marching me into the kitchen. “Today,” he informed me, “you will learn how to cook.” It hadn’t really occurred to me at the time that cooking was something I should consider learning how to do. I mean, Mom seemed to be handling that task with reasonable aplomb. Who needed me clogging up the proceedings in the kitchen? Besides – I was 12. I had baseball cards to collect, KISS records to listen to and “Star Wars” to obsess over. My schedule was already jam-packed. Regardless, my stepfather was adamant, and my first cooking lesson began in earnest.

Despite the best of intentions, the lesson ended as soon as it began. Instructed to try my hand at making scrambled eggs, I dutifully grasped a fragile egg in my hand and brought it down, as demonstrated, against the side of a bowl. Evidently, I applied a bit too much force, as the kitchen counter, my stepfather’s tie and my prized “Planet of the Apes” T-shirt were instantly covered in yolk. My stepfather proceeded to laugh like a hyena. The fact that my first stab at food preparation reduced him to fits of hysterics didn’t go over too well. Defiantly flicking a bit of eggshell out of my bangs, I declared that I was not, in fact, going to learn how to cook … just to spite him. From that point on, I went out of my way, as a petulant teen, to avoid learning how to cook. It was a vow I found all too easy to keep, but who got the last laugh?

Twenty years later, I found myself newly married. As a birthday gift, my wife gave me a gift certificate to sign up for this photography class I’d been ruminating about. Already feeling guilty about my failings in the kitchen, however, I suggested that I should take a cooking class instead. Not only did she love the idea, she decided to take the class with me. 

As fun as the class (“How to Boil Water 101”) was, though, I was still way out of my depth. We poached a salmon in the first class, for cryin' out loud! I took zealous notes and paid furious attention and even completed a few honestly edible dishes, but that all happened under the watchful eye of our instructor. Sure, with him barking orders over my shoulder, of course I’d know the exact moment when to flip my omelette. But in the unforgiving wilderness of my own kitchen, I’d be on my own again.

The cooking class was fun. I still look back at my notebook and see my wife’s catty comments scribbled in the margins. But I didn’t really retain a thing and went right back to my old habit of basically steering clear of the kitchen unless there was some rudimentary pot-stirring or the dishes to do.

Soon afterward, we had a couple of children, and in no time at all, those kids graduated from baby food to “proper” food. I was able to help make their lunches and serve them up the odd bowl of macaroni and cheese (or virtually any dish that involved a microwave), but put me near the stove or oven, and all those confidence issues came rushing back. Without supervision, I seem to be convinced that I’ll screw something up. I’m deathly afraid of deviating from a recipe … something my wife can’t stop herself from doing. I freeze up and worry that I’ll either set off the smoke alarms or undercook something and make everybody sick.

Now, as a dad in my almost-mid-40s, I’m trying to make amends. I look around and see my peers who have handily tamed the forbidding frontiers of their own kitchens and are capably adept family-feeders while I'm still struggling with the coffeemaker. I am determined to put on the apron and “man up” to my responsibilities as a husband and father. As it happens, today is National Men Make Dinner Day, the ideal opportunity for men like me to stop making excuses and get cooking. Tonight, my wife gets to sit on the couch with her feet up while I toil in the kitchen (desperately trying to avoid burning the house down). Tonight, I make dinner. Men, who’s with me?

Just don’t ask me to crack any eggs.

Parents, do you have any recipe suggestions for slacker dads and husbands out there who are otherwise all thumbs in the kitchen? Share your ideas in the comment section below.

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