Pizza, Twinkies, Chocolate Milk

I was an athlete in high school. Captain of the gymnastic team for both years until I graduated with a small scholarship. All the “lunch ladies” knew me and I greeted them daily. Above was my meal of choice.

A slice of pizza, package of Twinkies and a pint of chocolate milk. There was a juke box in the cafeteria and we used to listen to The Beach Boys. At home I bought and listened to Beatles, Bob Dylan, Three Dog Night, Dave Mason, Bad Company, Joan Baez and others.

In college they promised gymnastics and never delivered. There, in the caf, I ate chocolate cereal with chocolate milk for breakfast until I moved to the apartments and cooked for many others. Only dinner, no chocolate. I should have learned how to make a proper mole. Perhaps all these years later I’d have it right, but not right enough to serve Chef Rick Bayless.

Baking is a non-starter for me. My mother and sisters always excelled at that area of expertise. I chose cooking. Of course I make a berry trifle that guests love and certain ones ask for every New Years’ Day, and have kids over to make graham cracker/vanilla yogurt/berry parfaits for their family. I also have kids over for pizza parties and the dough is done but they have to roll it out and have pre-made toppings to consider and before bedtime they must make their own dough to put in their own bowl and place in their frig to roll out tomorrow. Bread pudding, I can do that. Mincemeat tarts.

I do love cooking, probably for over fifty years. I peeled carrots when I was eight and placed them in ice water in the frig. They curled up. What a great science experiment! Papa was there that summer. We called him “summer Santa” because I think he bought me and my sister roller skates that year, the kind you clip on over your sneakers. Mind you, we lived on a highway via a 1/4 mile dirt road and we were not allowed to use them in the house. Oh, because I made them, he called them “suicide carrots” as he did anything else I tried.

Neighbors had an old dog, Tory, who used to come visit. He wasn’t allowed indoors but I’d feed him. It took him a day to come down the 1/4 mile drive, he’d stay for six days then walk back. On our childhood adventures with our neighbors I’d tell them Tory was with us and it was OK with them, they knew.

I was never a horse lady, but am the dog lady and have been since I was six months old. And I’m a cook and planning meals for this weekend. Dee


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