When I was in 5th grade, my teacher wanted us 2 make a cookbook for a project..
“Please go home and ask your mother (sexist hindsight) for her favorite recipe and bring it in tomorrow morning”
My mother is a saint, and was a worker, not much of a chef tho..
“Mom, I need your
favorite recipe for a cookbook or something”
Sally asks without skipping a beat, I don’t have a favorite recipe. I have a favorite cereal though as she dove into a bowl of fruity pebbles..
The conversation pivoted and the cookbook forgotten for the evening..
I walked into the
class the next morning, watching everybody turn in their recipes with full stories and jovial convos with the teacher.. a line was formed tho so i had some time.. I had never seen a recipe b4, so the I peak at the girl in front of me’s paper.. and go to work on some loose leaf..