I'm hardly a professional cook. In fact, I'd barely qualify as a novice cook. So why do I cook? Well, I do love to eat, but only once a day. That's right. No breakfast and no lunch. Just dinner. This being the case, I try to make each dinner something of a reward for myself. I'm addicted to the Food Network (on cable). I could watch it pretty much 24/7 with the exception of Emeril. (Sorry, Em. No offense. You've just been a little over-exposed.) My dream is to one day have a kitchen as cool as the onces I see on Food Network. A big kitchen with a huge island and every imaginable tool and appliance that's open to the family room so everyone can gather 'round without getting in the way. Ahhhh. . . One day. Of all of my favorite things to cook, anything fried will come pretty close to the top of the list. Being southern, we love almost anything dunked in hot oil or grease long enough to get GB&D. (I'm fantasizing about crispy fried pork chops as I sit here.) Well, let's see. . . Hmmm. . . I remember my Mom's chicken and dumplings, my Dad's all-day spaghetti sauce, grilling steaks on Sunday afternoons, oyster stew, red velvet cake at Christmas. Gosh, there's so many memories associated with the kitchen when I was growing up that it's kind of hard to sort them all out and put them into a few words. My biggest cooking triumph was probably a red velvet cake I baked for my family last year at Christmas. It turned out perfect! My cooking tragedies? Too numerous to count.