I am a single father. In 1993, after the divorce, he remained with his little son in his arms, well, and went away, smelled and worked wherever possible.

For those who do not remember those years, I will say that there has been no such ass in our country since 1945. Work was as a gift of God, and salary in general seen by few lucky people. I worked at a poultry factory, first as a slug, and then as an electrician, I received a boiler (chickens in the amount of 12 kg) and could collect products under the salary in the buffet. They also needed “live money.” That’s why I had to crack again.

This continued for several years. Sometimes I was so tired that I forgot to eat. Despite my age, I knew I was doing my best.

And this morning, on my rare weekend, I woke up with a son standing at the door of my room. He was seven years old then. I see he was waiting for me to wake up, and I wonder:

Son, what are you?

He is pleased:

Dad, I have prepared your breakfast!

After this news, my dream disappeared. Agree, for a seven-year-old boy cooking breakfast is not a very usual activity.

We went to the kitchen, and there in the plate was a real egg with sausages and a glass of tea.

Nothing that sausages he burned right in cellophane, and the eggs embossed well very cool. Everything was delicious, even sausages.

The tea was strong and sweet.

It was the best breakfast in my life.



Sasha is cooking fantastic. Sometimes his dishes cause questions to me, but here’s what he inherited the culinary abilities of his grandmother, grandfather and hopefully mine – that’s true.