Stirring the Pot
There is serious cooking in my family.
My father did a hitch in the USAF, working as a cook in a reserve MASH
unit that made the 4077th look like the Green Berets. My
brother-in-law is an award-winning chef, the chef de cuisine at one of
the best-reviewed and busiest restaurants in North Carolina. And
there’s my sister, whom said brother-in-law met while they were in
school at the Culinary Institute of America. She has, and I am in awe
of the very concept of this thing, a formal degree in pastry.
Me, I can make a mean cheesesteak. (Note: If you have to call it a
“Philly cheesesteak”, you are already doing it wrong. It’s a
cheesesteak. Period. If you have to slather on a signifier to try to
convince people of its pedigree, it ain’t the real deal. But I
digress.)
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