A Princess Never Cooks

BAM! Yes, believe your eyes, this was my Thanksgiving dinner table (pre-food, of course). Take that, Marty.

Not since I read Are You There God, It's Me, Margaret, have I felt so, well, womanly--like I graduated to the next level or something. I can now say that I have experienced, albeit briefly, the sweet nectar of the once-bewildering world of filigreed slotted spoons, monogrammed pewter napkin rings, and multi-colored hand-blown cordial glasses. Would you like an absorbent sandstone coaster for your snifter?

Breathe in. Breathe out. Imagine, if you will, the sumptuous tendrils of scent that drifted in from my kitchen last Thursday: thyme-and-butter-rubbed turkey breast stuffed with garlic cloves and bread dressing, glowy sweet potato bisque with cinnamon, flaky, top-split dinner buns. Until a week ago, I could never have written that sentence. The smells more commonly emitting from my kitchen include the plasticky Eau du Microwavable Burrito or perhaps the sweet aroma of a freshly punctured can of tunafish.

For a long time, I told myself that I didn't like to cook. I even resorted to purchasing a silly magnet proclaiming "A Princess Never Cooks." Yeah, I know, buying a silly magnet to rationalize an aspect of one's personality is a desperate act usually committed by lonely and bored housewives with a surplus of cash. I have one, OK?? I bought it in college. Anyway, my recent brush with the culinary arts has a lot to do with my recent lack of cash. Eating out 3 meals a day in New York City is a killer. ($10 salad, anyone? With avocado? $14! And that's lunch.) So this summer, after several threatening phone calls from my credit card company, I decided to budget and scrimp and save and cook more. So, I've been cooking more. Ahem.

This Thanksgiving, when my parents and grandmother decided to come to Brooklyn, I stressed, but was excited. It would be a new tradition, a new adventure, an opportunity to either (A) entertain my family by tending to their every gastronomic need and desire, or (B) burn down the kitchen. Either way, I figured it'd be memorable.

OK, I'm off to buy a bundt pan.