About Me

I never learned to cook.  I was a latchkey kid, from a broken home, with a mother who worked two jobs.  She used to give my brother and I a couple of bucks and tell us to go down to the corner drug store to get something to eat.  Back then, the drug store served as a candy store, an old fashioned soda fountain that served some food on a counter with some stools, and a rack of comic books -- on top of the regular corner store stuff like cigarettes, magazines, newspapers, and prescription drugs.  

Living in big metropolitan cities all my life, I never had to go far to eat -- take-out was always there, pizza deliveries every Friday night from the place that knew my order by heart.  And I went along swimmingly until at 52, I moved out to the Middle of Nowhere, USA --- and promptly got a nasty bug after a large social event.  It was then that I realized that if I wanted chicken soup in order to feel better, I was going to have to make it my dang self.  Ugh.  

Getting to know my surroundings (mainly cows and prairie), I found lots of Norwegians.  No offense to Norwegians, but given their natural climate is a lot cooler -- they're used to eating comfort food.  And lots of it is white.  Lutefisk, Rommegrot, Krumkake, Potato Klub -- it's all white!!  If all your ingredients are white (flour, butter, sugar), your food will be white.  Coming from a more ethnic background, my tastes run a bit more colorful.  For the record, dining options out here are limited, which is tough for a gal who loves to eat ethnic food (and can't cook). 

Finally, I believe that your sense of taste needs to be treated to adventures as much as any other sense -- and deserves to explore all that the world has to offer.  Thankfully,  my Norwegian husband also has an adventurous palate.  And so began my cooking misadventures.