What Opening a Tin of Tomatoes Taught My Daughter

Amazing everyday kitchen learning! I was cooking dinner and sometimes I like to batch cook. This particular recipe was for a pasta sauce. This meant five tins of chopped tomatoes into one big pot, the kind of meal you make once and eat off for three days or freeze.

I called across to one of my children “Would you like to help? You’re very welcome to come and join in.” I have to say they were not hugely keen. But she wandered over anyway, and the next thing I knew, she was attempting to open the tins of tomatoes ready to go in.

By the time we had finished opening the five tins, I was genuinely fascinated by how much learning we had covered, naturally. Just from opening five tins of tomatoes.

Before the meal was even finished, I’d realised that between the two of us we’d done some maths, a bit of science, prediction and estimation, and a surprising amount of fine motor work. None of it planned. None of it announced as learning. Just a child, a tin opener, and a few questions.

This post is a little walk through of what happened. If it does one thing, I hope it helps you look at your own kitchen slightly differently and see that cooking with your child doesn’t have to be a full recipe from start to finish. Sometimes it can be just five tins of tomatoes.

These tins needed a proper tin opener — they didn’t have a ring pull. And it was really interesting to watch my daughter try and tackle it.

We take it for granted, don’t we? You put it on, close the handles, turn the handle on top. Simple. Except when you’ve never really done it before — it’s not simple at all.

First she had to get the tin opener attached in the right place on the rim of the tin. Then she had to squeeze the two handles to close enough to grip. Then she had to navigate turning the handle on top while keeping the whole thing steady. She ended up holding the tin and moving the whole tin opener around it in circles — whatever worked.

And honestly? That’s a lot going on in one little task. The grip strength to close the handles. The coordination to attach it in the right spot. The fine motor control to keep turning without it slipping off.

I did step in to show her how, and that helped. By the fifth tin, she was getting the hang of it. Still not effortless, but getting there.

And here’s the thing that struck me. I honestly thought she’d be able to do it quite easily. I’d misread the situation as a parent — and that’s OK. You notice it, you acknowledge it, and you carry on. It doesn’t always click first time. Sometimes these things need repetition, practice, a few more goes. And a kitchen full of tins is a pretty lovely place to get that practice in.

As we were wrestling with the tin opener, I glanced down at the tins lined up on the worktop and thought — ooh, there’s a little bit of maths we could sneak in here. This one wasn’t led by her. This was me spotting the moment.

We had a quick chat. Felt like seconds, really.

“What shape is the tin?” She said circle. And I thought carefully here, because I didn’t want to say “no” — I think that’s really important. I said, “You’re absolutely right, the top is a circle — that’s a 2D shape. But what about the whole tin? What 3D shape is that?”

Cylinder. Lovely.

Then we had a look at the lid she’d just taken off and used it to talk through three words:

We went over it a couple of times. Then, as we were tipping tomatoes into the pan, I just said, “Can you remember which one’s the circumference? Which one’s the radius? Which one’s the diameter?”

That’s recall of the facts, sneaked in sideways. And next time we’re using tins — or anything that is a circle in the kitchen — we can do it again.

This one she started on her own. I didn’t even realise it was happening at first.

She was holding the tin opener with the lid still on it, at a reasonable height above the worktop, and dropping the lid. By about the second tin, she turned to me and said:

So then she started changing how she was holding the tin opener. Different angles. Different heights. Does it make a difference if I hold it like this? Nope — silver side up, tomato side down, every single time.

She was asking me, “Which way up will it land if I hold it this way?” And we were predicting together. Would it be the same as the others? Or different this time?

She was genuinely excited and curious by this point. Why is it always landing that way? What’s happening? We talked about why it might be — the weight of the lid, where the tomato residue sits, the way it flips as it falls.

It felt like one of those little science-right-in-front-of-your-eyes moments. Brilliant. And not something I’d planned for even a second.

The next question came out of nowhere: “Mum, what’s that pink stuff on the inside of the tin?”

And for just a split second I thought — oh gosh, pink stuff, have we got a dodgy tin? But no. When I had a proper look, it’s just the plastic coating on the inside of the tin, which protects the food from the metal.

I’d actually never really thought about it before. You assume a tin is tin all the way through, inside and out. But it’s not. And she’d noticed something I hadn’t, and asked a question I didn’t fully know the answer to.

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The wrap — what it all added up to

From just asking my daughter if she wanted to help with the cooking — before we’d even finished making the meal — I realised how much ground we’d covered. Maths. Science. Prediction. Estimation. Fine motor skills. Perseverance. Curiosity. Recall.

It was quite incredible, honestly.

And so much of it was led by her. She was the one querying why the lid was landing silver-side-up. She was the one asking about the pink coating. I just happened to notice the shape moment and drop it in.

Cooking with our children doesn’t have to mean a full-on recipe from start to finish. Sometimes it’s these little light-bulb moments, where they come in to do one small thing — opening a tin, tearing some herbs, pouring the milk — and that one thing sparks something much bigger.

Which stage is this for?

A quick note on safety and stage. A tin opener has sharp metal involved — a used tin lid has edges you genuinely don’t want little fingers near. So I’d put this one firmly in the Little Chef range, with an adult close by and a clear chat beforehand about the sharp bits.

And most of all — just have fun.