The first thing I learned to cook was eggs, sunny side up. I was so proud of myself, I ate them every day that week and was thrilled with the opportunity to make them for anyone else. Eventually, I baked cookies and cakes. We’d gobble down the warm ginger snaps by the dozen. And we couldn’t wait to devour “cherry guck”, a shortbread cake covered in syrupy cherries with dollops of dough scattered on top. I tried making pizza a few times but the crust was always so hard, it would cut the inside of my mouth. As much as I loved to cook and bake, if my mom happened to come into the kitchen, she’d freak out at the mess. I preferred to clean up after I had finished cooking so things did look chaotic. She’d yell and scream and threaten never to let me use her kitchen again, ruining the fun I’d been having. But somehow my love for cooking and baking never died. I prepare food for my family and friends as my gift to show I love them. And still I don’t clean up till I’m done.
Debi