My cooking, or the lack thereof, is a standard joke around our house. At every family gathering, someone mentions the “Blueberry Drip” or the “Bloody Chicken” episodes. And then there was the time I made green bean casserole for my new daughter-in-law-to-be. I made one teensy, weensy error … dropping a cup of pepper into the casserole. I thought I had scooped it all out and no one would be the wiser, but I was wrong.
Now after so many years I like the fact that no one relies on my culinary talents to keep them alive. I guess that’s why I was given the sign I so proudly display in my kitchen that reads, “The Only Reason I have a Kitchen Is Because It Came With the House.”
