Aunt Lita’s Divinity ⬅ The Devil’s Work

My friend, Lori and a couple of her friends are putting together…on the fly…a cookbook to sell and donate to those who have been, and are still, suffering from the effects of Sandy.

She put out a blanket request to her friends for contributions. These are flowing in~! (Another in a very long list of brilliant ideas from our Lady Lori — find her here: Social Media Design.)

So, I’ve sent in one already…going to work on #2 this morning.

I know though, right? It’s simply ludicrous to think of me in a kitchen…they are such evil places. Remember: meatloaf is the devil’s poop.

Anyway, here is a preview of my contribution…I’ll absolutely be loading the finished link as soon as it becomes available.

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I don’t cook. I stink the big one at cooking, and it’s all my father’s fault. He was an Army Officer who loved considering himself to be an amateur gourmet chef (such an oxymoron.) Mom was absolutely okay with that. When he retired he took the hobby even more seriously. He did ALL of the cooking. Mom was still okay with that. But I wasn’t. I couldn’t even walk into the kitchen to put together a PB&J without him standing in the doorway to make sure I wasn’t messing with his prized knives or opening jars incorrectly. Yep. My main complaint growing up was…[in VERY whinny and emotive voice] “Dad, can’t we please have hamburgers tonight? I’m tired of escargot.” Yes, tantrums were had.

This, of course, lead to the fact that I’ve never dated a man who couldn’t cook, much less married one. Because I sure as tooting’ wasn’t going into any silly kitchen.

Dad passed on awhile ago, so it was mom’s turn to learn. Again, I was saddled with the role of ‘taster’ or as I refer to myself–Child Bedeviled By Beginner’s Borscht. She turned to her sisters for help; one is in Louisiana, the other in Texas, so all of the recipes she got from them were loaded with butter, or, for heaven’s sake, Lard!

This actually made me quite happy at times. Sugar, butter, lard and I became friends. Yeah, I’ma bad girl. Lard is like the leather jacketed bad boy on a Harley in recipes these days. I love that bad boy. (I did once try to establish myself as a Vegetarian…my dear Mother laughed so hard she squirted Dr. Pepper out of her nose. Which wasn’t pretty, because she had peanuts in that soda, too. Yep, she’s from Texas.)

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Now, for the rest of the story…and the recipe…just hang on to your ass…it’ll be coming SOON.

* smoochies, dolls