I like to experiment in the kitchen. It's a creative outlet for me. I can usually whip up something good, if just a bit on the... umm... interesting side. I usually make a mess too, filling the sink to overflowing with pots, pans and other instruments of mad science. Back in college, I gained notoriety with my Venison Stew with Cinnamon. Hey, don't look at me like that, it was good and everyone enjoyed it, even if they do still tease me about it. As with all experimentation, failure is an option. The good part is most of my failures are still edible, with only one or two notable exceptions over the years (think burnt - I mean really carbonized!)
Still, I have a reputation for leaving a "creative blast radius" in the kitchen, to the point where, if my family sees me staring at the spice rack with a pensive look on my face, they grab the phone and the Domino's Pizza magnet off the fridge and wait for the detonation.
Today, I was hungry. So, staring at the contents of the fridge, I thought I'd make short work of the various and sundry leftovers accumulating in there. In walks my daughter.
Surveying the scene, she asked, "Whatcha doing, Daddy?"
I replied, "Experimenting. Wanna help?"
Without skipping a beat, she deftly replied, "Sure, I'll get the bandages," and walked out of the kitchen.
Smartass. She's definitely her mother's daughter.