Well, okaaayyy. I asked if leftovers would be okay tonight. I don’t know why I even asked. The GG eats almost anything I cook. Er, there was a tofu experiment a long time ago where the recipe said to put 4 *tablespoons* of chili powder into the mix instead of 4 *teaspoons*. Yes we ordered a pizza that night… But I guess a guy who ate pancakes every day while putting himself through college is not all that picky. His answer? “My next wife will not serve me leftovers.” My retort? See today’s title! (He was kidding, all you feministas!)

I am not Julia Child or Rachael Ray (I don’t even exactly know who Rachael Ray is) or The Pioneer Woman. I am not The Commander, who grew up on her grandparents’ farm and learned to cook from her mother. I am not Uber Kayak Woman, who, I dunno, just makes magic with more or less whatever is around. I am not AgateGal, who is not a food blahgger but I have gotten some fantastic recipes off of her blahg.

I am a decent, serviceable cook. I don’t like to eat packaged food. I don’t belong to a CSA. I am intrigued by CSAs but I’m afraid I’d get way more produce than we could ever eat and I hate to throw food out, especially now that the (ahem) Dexter bare bear is in the general area. I *love* to shop at the local farmer’s market. But I’m not always in town. And, when I am, I have chores to do… Uh, note to self… But when “they” started telling us all to shop the perimeter of the grokkery store, where all the fresh stuff is, don’tcha know, well, I already DO that. Mostly. There are some canned or packaged ingredients that I use. But I like to chop things up and simmer them and assemble them or whatever. It can be a challenge to do that after a long, faaaarrrr drill-type day at work with a rainstorm and traffic jam on the way home. Like today. But that’s why we have leftovers, roight?

Although I have always taken on the role of Chief Cook and Bottle Washer in our family, the GG is not too bad in the kitchen himself. There are some things he does notably better than I do. Like eggs. When the Beach Urchins are home and want a nice little egg sandwich, they do not ask yer fav-o-rite blahgger. Nope. Daaaaddddyyy? I can do scrambled. On a good day. He can cook them to order.

I have lost my train of thought. Good night! -KW

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