Being a single female, I don’t do a lot of cooking – in the kitchen or, sadly, the bedroom. Ice Cream Man once asked if I knew how to make eggs benedict, I told him I did and showed him how by calling out, “Waiter, eggs benedict, please.” I have, however, cooked things in the past. A lot of really good things, in fact.
Some of the favorites include glorified tacos, wacky cake, ebleskivers, raspberry chocolate mousse, German pancakes, clam (sans clam) chowder, banana bread, and scotch-a-roos. “You’ve told me about a lot of these things, but I’ve never seen or had any of them at your house,” Sleepless once told me.
Months later, as we were enjoying a glass of wine in the kitchen and chatting while I chopped vegetables for a salad, she had a quizzical look on her face and asked, “What’s that noise?” The noise she was referring to was the clicking of my gas oven in which the baked chicken was sizzling. “That’s cooking,” I proudly replied.