Other than an occasional foray into cookies or a date night dinner - generally pasta, which I can make in my sleep - I've basically lived on stress and energy bars since graduating college. Despite that, I seem to have registered for, and received, every cooking appliance known to man as gifts following my recent marriage. Since I work from home, I've spent the past four months learning to use them and suddenly find myself contemplating making pretzels from scratch. Right now I'm getting a kick out of meat, since I was a vegitarian for more than 10 years. Meat's good - really, really, really good. I also like to try to sneak green things into my husband - this morning he ate "breakfast bread" that was actually a zuchinni loaf. I'm descended from a long line of Italian-American women who can't cook, excepting my great-grandmother who was pretty much the Sunday gravy making stereotype. Honestly, my mom uses Ragu. The closest we come to family cooking traditions is a preference for eating out. I'm stunned every night when a new thing turns out. My first Thanksgiving turkey was a fuzzy moment. The day I realized making my tomato sauce was stunningly easy was a big one. I think the thing I'm proudest of though is the aphrodisiac-themed Valentine's Day dinner I made for my husband - starting with pears in honey stuffed with goat cheese and pine nuts, lamb in a fig balsamic vinegar sauce, Moroccan cous cous, asparagus and Creme Catalina mixed with chocolate mousse for dessert. As a teenager, I once made banana bread with powdered sugar instead of flour. It was really more of a banana brittle. Even in my family, that stood out.