When I was five I begged my mother to let me cook. She said anyone who
wants to be a good cook must know how to read. So I taught myself to
read. When I could sort of stumble through stuff she made me read the
directions on the Jello box. When I could do that (albeit) with
coaching, I made , , , Jello. It was all smooth sailing from there
(well, mostly).

My mother was a good and adventuresome cook. I remember Chinese food
from a cookbook by some nuns from Peking/Beijing borrowed from the
library. She spent years trying to recapture the English foods my dad
grew up on - lemon curd tarts, Yorkshire Pudding, Boiled dinner with
suet pudding, beef and potatoes . . .

I made my first entire meal at between eight and nine years old.
Venison Swiss Steak, baked potatoes, green beans and butterscotch
pudding. Then I used to wait until the grown ups were gone and go
into the kitchen and experiment. No wonder they would never give me a
chemistry set for my birthday.

Later on she turned me on to Julia (I bought the books!) and the
Frugal Gourmet, but my strongest skill is walking into somebody else's
kitchen and improvising a meal from whatever I can scrounge up -
occasionally a disaster, but almost always edible.

Now I am retired due to disability, I live alone and HATE to cook for
one. If you're ever in North Dakota . . .

Lynn from Fargo