Hot Daddy...

I think i love cooking, folks, more than i like eating.

Now don't get me wrong; the latter i freely do my fair share of.
If not more so than...

But there is something about seeing it all come together, and the eyes-fluttering-to the-back-of-the-head roll when someone has truly tasted Ambrosia... and knowing ones self responsible...
Brings a gratifying smile.

Part of the enjoyment stems from the fact that my eyes ARE bigger than my stomach; I'm always SO hungry when i start preparations...

As a matter of course, any chef worth her/his weight in cornmeal will inform you that 'SAMPLING' during the entire preparation process is a nasty but necessary business...
So i set a table, spread it with good homemade grub...
And can't eat my salt's worth of said meal!

Just don't understand sometimes...
:)

I grew up in a kitchen. My beloved mum wanted naught but to be in one as a domestic occupation (and, barefoot or not, to have multiple hungry mouths to feed from said post). Though her dream was denied, I glommed on to all the cookery i could fathom.

Later in life's progression, i spent time w/ my dad, who (turns out) did the majority of real-food [read: not order-in or take-out] assimilation in that household. My BBQ penchant certainly must have taken no beating having this Guru to observe...

I could offer up my favorite meals--- and undeniably necessary utensils-- for study, but it seems there is a pressing iron-skillet-grilled breakfast of sausage, onions and eggs which must needs immediately be deemed worthy (thereby leaving me subject for future writ!!!).

Better go see the King is not poisoned!

More Soon, Folks.

Cygnus