I’m going to pick out a recipe to make for the final exam in my Food and Nutrition class. I’m looking through the recipe book my mom had: it’s by the mothers and teachers of my elementary school. 

I pick a cranberry salad recipe because it looks yummy: “Fluffy Fruit Salad.” It’s by Mrs. Kling. A teacher who I had. She used to teach at school.

I’m nervous to make it, since it’s a part of the final exam; I had to make it at school. The teacher wants us to take less than thirty minutes. It looks tasty, so I choose this recipe.

When it came time, I put Cool Whip in a bowl and pour the fruit and juice in. I put orange peel on top, folding the white fluff. I eat my dish. The flavors dance.

The leftovers, I eat for lunch. I’m a hungry teenager.

“I ate the cranberry salad and it was good!” I said with an excited look on my face to my mom after she arrived home. I’ve taken the blue container out to wash it. While I was washing it, mom watches me. I am a grown women. I’ll be baking food in the future. I’ll make this again!

I already told her that she is a great cook and she gets great recipes. She makes tasty treats. Mom smiled. Mom is proud of me. I always get good grades. And I made a dish by myself.

I’m proud of myself. I took this class so I can cook. That was the first time I’m baking food. I passed that part of the exam with an A plus! I smiled because I did my food labs for the semester.