I can never recall my mother telling me that I was in the way in the kitchen. On the contrary, when she stood at the counter with a big bowl, she gave me a little bowl. A little bit of everything that went into the big bowl went into the little bowl, I stirred with my favorite wooden spoon, and learned how to bake. The self-same spoon is currently in my apartment kitchen. By the time I was twelve, Mom had decided that my pie crust and biscuits were better than hers and that was my job, while her custards and stir-fry beat mine hands-down any day. As I grew upwards, Mom and I only had more fun together in the kitchen. We explored new cuisines, shared new cookbooks...and now the learning goes both ways as we share ideas and meals with each other. Though we live far apart, my parents and I talk on the phone nearly every day and, indeed, a common question is still "So, what did you make for dinner?"

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