The beginning of something... grotesque.

Well, well, well, here I am. . . starting something new again with the intention of follow through weighing heavily on my shoulders. You should know as a reader (who likely stumbled across this page accidentally) that consistency is far from my strong suit (at least as it relates to reading, writing and completing self-imposed, not-for-profit projects) and I am likely to let us both down, but I will (maybe) not be deterred.

My inspiration for this blog comes from many places, not least of which is another blog (http://chreetzmas.wordpress.com/) written by a young woman with more pizazz in her pinkie finger than I can muster in my entire body. I have received encouragement from a very successful and far away friend who insists that I have it in me, an ex-boyfriend who is over-the-top supportive, deluded parents who believe in me to a fault and a circle of friends around me whom I am constantly in awe of... And they shall be my victims!

Perhaps it is time for me to explain my maniacal intentions. What I want to do here is a Julie Powell/Julia Childs type experiment gone deranged. I am not looking to improve my cooking skills (though they could use improvement), nor am I attempting a soulful awakening of any sort. No, my objective is far from noble, in fact, I just want to make you squirm. On that note, I would also be encouraged by dry-heaving and pleas for pardon. My mission is to create dishes on a weekly basis whose recipes can be found in cookbooks dating back to the mid-century... Yes, that's right, bring me your aspics, your canned garnishes, your mayonnaise, we're going to have some fun 'round here. I shall brave sculpted meats, suspended meats, canned meats. I will show no mercy. May your ideas of comfort food be forever challenged. A few short decades ago people (even children) ate these atrocities, often served up to them with a heaping helping of pride and so shall my unsuspecting friends.

If you think you can handle pastel sandwich loafs and horseradish with your fruit, hop on board and then get down on your knees in gratitude for how far home cooking has come in the last 30-60 years. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to be getting to the market!