This was a gift from my friend, Jill. And while I know MANY people who share this pet peeve, I, unfortunately, am not one of them.And yeah, it's a guest post. And if only I had Merv Griffin's couch, we'd be all set. Kramer.
The most wonderful time of the year is over. The one time when near strangers ring your doorbell to drop off plates of home-made cookies and brownies and chocolates. The time when school parents send goodies home in back-backs and bring fresh muffins for breakfast. It's all over. Thank God.
I suck, I know. Bah Humbug. I just can't help it. Food prepared by people I don't know well freaks me out.
Now, I know that restaurants are no picnic. I certainly don't know the chefs and some downright questionable shit goes on in those kitchens. The neon signs about hand-washing might not get through to the line-chef and retribution for annoying preparation requests may be commonplace... I know. But, for me, there is just something different about a restaurant and a home kitchen.
When I had my babies, we had some kind and generous neighbors who brought us home-cooked meals every day for weeks. I bet they were delicious. Jeff certainly enjoyed them. But I wouldn't know. If they came from a kitchen I didn't know, I couldn't get myself to eat any of it.
Am I alone here? It certainly feels like it-- I don't see anyone else picking around at out at pot-lucks, trying to figure out who made what or passing on the homemade goodies. I just can't do it. So, you can skip my house next year for the holidays. I'll take the plant instead.
