thirteen cookbooks...

....sit on one of our many bookshelves.  They take up an entire shelf (actually that's a lie.  A gnome takes up the last few inches.  His name is Jonathan).  Not only are they wedding gifts, but they are glorious, really and truly glorious.

At this point you may be scratching your head, and really, I don't blame you.  What happened to the Jessica who killed the store-bought sugar cookie in a roll?  Or the Jessica who lived off of cheese and jelly quesadillas?  Or the Jessica who basically shirked all responsibilities in the kitchen aside from doing dishes? (And really and truly, I like doing the dishes.  Give me some soap and some water and I will be content for hour.  If you're lucky, I might even sing and dance (although that might depend on what kind of soap and water and dishes you give me)).

No more, ladies and gentleman, no more.  The Jessica who ran away from anything nonstick, fried, and crock-potted is a thing of the past.

At this point you are probably really confused.  Let me explain.  As a housewife (and actually it's an apartmentwife, but I'm pretty sure it's the same difference) with a husband in school, I am limited to what I can and can't do when David is studying.  I mean, I could be totally awesome and play Lego Star Wars and Super Mario and all those other great games, but let's be honest: good apartmentwives are not distractions to their academic husbands.  No sirree, Bob! 

In lieu of being a distraction, one night I decided to peruse our bookshelves and happened upon a cookbook.  And I started reading it.  And it was so marvelously well-written that I was intrigued.  The author was witty, the pictures were tantalizing, the advice was priceless, and above all, the recipes weren't that frightening.  They didn't call for twice-cooked garlic on a watermelon rind or any of that ridiculous stuff that some chefs claim is the only secret for a truly tantalizing meal.  And because of that, I'm kind of interested in trying some of them out.  Granted, I'm scared to death, but hey!  Things can't turn out all that badly, right?

Right...

I'm sure right now you're expecting me to post a fantastically toppled cake or a custard burnt beyond recognition.  I'm sorry to disappoint, but I have a little secret....

I haven't actually started cooking yet.

Maybe once I actually cook something you'll hear about it.  Most likely you'll never hear about it (unless of course it is a smashing success and David dubs me a goddess of the kitchen (but honestly, it's more likely to snow in Hades before that happens during our first fifteen years of marraige)).

Until then (with "then" being the day in which a remarkably awesome dish is concocted), I recommend that you pull out a good cookbook (with "good" meaning witty and fun to read), and salivate, all while happily awaiting the not-too-far-off day when your parents (hopefully!) invite you home for Sunday dinner.

Bon appetite!

[EDIT: I did make something sorta tasty in a crock pot (mostly because I just wanted to make sure the crock pot worked before throwing away the box).  David ate it, and he took the rest to work for lunch, so it can't have been all that bad.  Maybe there's hope.  I'll keep you posted.]