Years ago, after getting married, the realization dawned on me that although someone now looked to me for dinner, i did not know how to cook. Boiling water for pasta, microwaving frozen dinners, and ordering pizza do not count. For a wedding gift, we recieved a Betty Crocker cookbook that became my salvation. Slowly, after following instructions with each new recipe, i learned to cook. i learned to love to cook. Failures were few, but each one was personally felt. Perfection was a self-imposed requirement. Slowly, miniscule tidbits of wisdom have infiltrated my brain, informing me it is ok to not be perfect, some tastes are acquired, and not every recipe results in good food. One not to try again- mahogany chicken wings. A cookiesheet now must be replaced, and the smoky stench still lingers whenever the oven is heated.
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