With the possible exception of a linguini with white clam sauce I made in 10th grade, my family–mom, dad, grandma, grandpa and Michael–have never eaten anything I’ve cooked. I only started cooking three years ago, so that keeps them safely off the hook. Yet, even when I come home the idea of my cooking remains an impossibility: dining out is so much more inviting.
Which is why, today, I forced mom and grandma–who came to inspect my apartment–to try my homemade caramel pecan milk chocolate ice cream.
“That is to DIE for!” raved my mother.
“Too good,” said my grandmother, “delicious.”
“One more spoonful,” begged my mother. “With nuts in it.”
“I love it,” said grandma.
Vindication at last. My place is secure, now, on our family tree.