Move over, Paula Deen

Did I ever tell you the story of the first time I made brownies in front of Trent? It was our third date.  We had just finished rollerblading and we came back to my apartment for a chat afterward. Actually, I was hoping the night would end in a kiss--our first--and so I was trying to extend the evening a bit. Let it be known now that I was not disappointed.

I invited Trent in, he sat at the barstool at the kitchen counter, I stood opposite of the counter, deciding that yep, I really was liking him very much. I asked him if he wanted some brownies. He said yes. I got out a brownie mix. I mixed up those brownies. I poured them in a pan. Then I put them in the oven. And then, in a moment that has gone down in history, I called to my roommate, "Melinda! How do you turn on this oven?"

That's how awesome I was at cooking. Trent's jaw dropped a little at my lack of skill; well, more figuratively than literally. He tells me now he just decided that we would be really skinny for the rest of our lives. Ah, love. Thank goodness it is blind and not too judgmental.

It sort of goes without saying that this story represents the low point of my life in cooking. But, let me just say this, my friends, let me just say this one thing: as they say in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, so say I: "I got better."

After we got married, I decided that I was going to tap into the cooking genes that run deep in my veins. Cooking is not taken lightly in my family. We got it going on. My mom has got serious cooking game. Anybody that has ever tasted her sweetbread knows that. Then there's my aunts, her sisters. Please! I bow down to them. I have memories of family reunion after reunion with Aunt Kathryn's shrimp salad and Carma's cinnamon rolls and the soups and the goodies and the JOY! OF! FOOD!

And then there's my sister Jenny. She is my mom on crack-cocaine when it comes to cooking. She's a wizard in the kitchen. There is no greater way to pay tribute to her utter brilliance cooking than to ask this simple question: Do you remember my wedding reception? Unbelivable, wasn't it? She invented two of the cookies served there. Invented them.

So. I tapped in to those genes. I read lots of recipe books. I took notes. I watched Food Network. I called Jenny daily, weekly, all the time. It has taken a couple of years to figure it all out. We've had some hits and some misses along the way, but gradually, my cooking self has emerged. And I tell you what, we are eatin' good in this neighborhood these days.

And somedays, when I've really gone crazy (like on Sunday when we had garlic mashed potatoes, garden salad with fresh vegetables from the farmer's market, and plum-stuffed rosemary crusted pork loin; or like last night when we had Broccoli and Cheese soup and my version of Magleby's house rolls--homemade rolls with butter and parmesean cheese), Trent smiles, shakes his head between bites and says, "Who are you??" It's his way of reminding us both of how far I've come.

Well. That is my cooking career to this point. And last week, I hit another milestone in my cooking progress.

People, I canned.

I what?

Yes, that is right. I peeled those peaches. I boiled those peaches.I put those peaches in that pot.

And when all was said and done, those peaches will feed my family during the dark winter that awaits us.

Not bad for a girl who couldn't turn on an oven, eh?

Isn't the best part of this picture the little forlorn child in the background?

PS Thank you, Kristin.