My journey begins here

I recall very vividly my first solo attempt in the kitchen. I was about 8 years old and had been pouring over the Peter Rabbit's Natural Food Cookbook. There was a recipe for Mrs. McGregor's Fudge Cake that I was dying to try (of course).

My mother was working on some new silk designs in her studio next door and I convinced her that I could and would be the responsible young woman she had raised and could handle making this cake "all by my self". Thinking I would stay out of her hair so she could perfect the batik she was working on, she agreed.

She advised me to read the recipe carefully so I would understand the steps and know what ingredients were necessary. Standing in the kitchen with bowls, measuring spoons, cups, and the usual suspects (flour, eggs, butter, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, salt, cocoa powder) I was ready for the adventure set before me. I thoughtfully sifted flour. I timidly cracked open each egg. I whisked, blended, mixed and folded. Each ingredient was so carefully measured. Finally, I poured the mixture into the 8x8 pan greased just like the recipe called for. I knew this was going to be the ultimate masterpiece. The perfect book end to a delicious family dinner.

My mother helped me put the pan in the oven and set the timer. Only 35 minutes to transform the buttery batter into heaven on a fork. When the timer dinged, it was all I could do to distract myself until dinner. On the back of the stove, cooling, Mrs. McGregor and her fudgy goodness sat. Oh glorious cake! When would you be mine?

I can't to this day recall what was served for dinner that evening. But I can tell you how much I beamed when the plates were cleared and my fudge cake came to the table. Everyone was served a piece. All afternoon, I was awaiting this very moment. But I was too nervous! I paused to wait for the applause, the enraptured "mmmmm" signaling that this was the most decadent of decadent desserts. It was, afterall, Mrs. McGregor's Fudge Cake.

My eyes were on my mother as she, too, anticipated the sweet delicacy before her. She took the first bite. This was it! Her lips pursed and her eyes rolled in what I was sure was the ultimate compliment. And then she spit the cake back out into her napkin and took a huge gulp of milk from the frosty glass.

I was devastated. It looked just like I thought it should look. I read the recipe 3 times over. I did everything right. Thoughtfully, my mother went through everything step by step with me asking me to show her exactly what I had used to measure each and every ingredient. It then became clear to her (and later to me) that she and I had very different ideas about what careful measuring was. To me, careful measuring was leveling the flour in a measuring cup or making sure the liquid was just to the line. I was a precocious child so it never occured to my mother that fractions hadn't been introduced to me yet, that I was unsure of when to use a "T" or a "tsp" and definitely that I hadn't grasped how many "tsp" are in a "T" or vice versa.

Still, it's kitchen tradgedies like this that have made me who I am as a cook. I have loved to bake since I can remember and of all things I can do in the kitchen, it is one of my favorite things to do. Mistakes and success are all a part of the culinary journey. Julia Child is famous for her mistakes and I doubt Hubert Keller made a perfect omlette right out the womb either.

This blog is about halfway gourmet. Halfway because I can say without pause that I have a long way to go before anyone calls me a gourmet. Sure, I can throw in a little bit of this, a touch of that, and top it with some pine nuts and it comes out looking like something you'd pay alot more to eat someplace else. But what makes a true gourmet? White linens, fine wine and flickering candles, fancy plating with foams, essences, and reductions? Whatever it is, we don't even eat our meals at a real table, so I can't possibly be there.

This is also halfway gourmet because I will be the first to admit that there are days when I would rather (and actually have) eaten a bag of Doritos for dinner. Can you imagine Alice Waters with nacho cheese fingers?

Lastly, it is halfway gourmet because I represent one half of this project. Along with my husband and fellow contributor to this blog, we will be sharing our experiences through the food that we eat. Afterall, a dish worth serving is a dish worth sharing.