RecipeMuncher

I do not share my kitchen well. If you come to a dinner party of mine early, do not expect to be handed a knife and asked to chop.  You may open a bottle of wine.  You may pick the itunes playlist.  You may, in an emergency, be handed a ten dollar bill and sent out to the nearest grocery store when I realize that I am out of, oh, say, sugar, just as I am about to make dessert (sorry, Kristen).  But as for help in the kitchen?  No thank you. My mother is more or less the same way.  So when (...)