Timothy loved a bit of meat. When cooking something with diced or minced beef from a plastic supermarket tray, he’d expect a cut for himself.
We’d squash a bit of mince into the corner of the plastic film and drop a couple of bits of meat into the tray. He’d push the tray around the kitchen floor while fishing everything out.
Most importantly though, AFTER that meat, no matter the nice smells coming from the cooker, he’d leave us to it: he knew that was his bit, so he wouldn’t pester for more.