My mother is a fantastic cook. And it has caused me problems my whole life. Eating dinner at friend's houses were never special and most restaurants failed to compete. But the most significant challenge that I've faced was moving out of my parents house.
I love my mother, but (mom you'll forgive me for saying this) she doesn't have the most nurturing personality in the world. Any time I tried to cook at home it turned into a huge disaster, usually with both of us crying by the end, so I didn't really start to cook until I moved into my own apartment in New York City two years ago. Here I was faced with a dilemma, I could order wildly expensive take-out food every night or I could learn to feed myself. I'm a public school teacher so take-out every night isn't practical or affordable, but I couldn't just exist on Kraft Mac and Cheese either. My mother's cooking haunted me. If I was going to cook at all, I needed to cook well.
Even though my initial cooking attempts ended badly, I soon found that cooking wasn't that hard, and that I was actually pretty darn good at it. All of my friends were surprised, how did I get so good so quickly? At my house, the kitchen was always the heart and even though I didn't do much cooking, I spent a lot of time there talking to my mom as she cooked. My only explanation is that I must have picked up some of her skills through osmosis. The rest is as much a mystery to me as it is to everyone else.
As time went on, I began to be less frustrated with my mother's instructions, (or lack thereof: "I don't know how much, until it looks right!!") and was so proud of my efforts that I started sending off pictures to my mom to prove that I wasn't starving to death. And then she began to respond with pictures of her own. Thus, Dinner Wars was born. The rules are simple: whoever cooked the best dinner that night wins. Dinners out and delivery don't count. Extra-points if its an original recipe (this is where my mom has the advantage). Hopefully everyone winds up well-fed either way.
