The Breaking Point

by Renae Brumbaugh

I come from a long line of excellent cooks. Gifted, southern women who know how to make flaky dinner rolls from scratch, who know how to make chocolate pie with up-to-there meringue, who can create heavenly kitchen scents to bring the manliest soldier to his knees. That is my heritage. I am the black sheep of the family. It’s not that I can’t cook. I just don’t need to cook. After all, my mother cooks, my brother cooks, my sister-in-law cooks . . . and I don’t want to steal their joy. So I step back and let them create their sumptuous miracles. I’m content to hide in the shadows and sneak bites.

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