I’ve always had a sweeter than normal sweet tooth. (Most kids do, but I was worse.) I would eat the frosting off the cake and leave the cake; I would also eat whole tablespoon fulls of sugar when my mother turned her back on the breakfast table; and when I was in a rather devious mood, I would climb up to the highest cupboard where Mom kept the Karo syrup and drink it straight from the bottle. Once I even started eating a bowl full of honey butter that was left on the counter. My dad caught me, but instead of punishing me, he encouraged me to eat the rest of the bowl. He even said he’d give me a nickel if I could eat it all, without getting sick. I got sick, but not until after he gave me the nickel.
Well, I loved to cook, but I hated to follow recipes. Once I was making baked chicken with my sisters. We decided to do even better than the Colonel. We must have used twenty herbs and spices, along with, Ovaltine. I made some pretty awful things too, like scrambled eggs with tons of baco bits, weak punch, strong orange juice, and a cake with frosting made out of granulated sugar. Need I say more?
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