I love it when people cook for me. One of the perks of getting shot was home cooked meals delivered six days a week. Every night, TBG and I dined on something new and interesting which I did not have to think about, or shop for, or prepare. Everything came in disposable containers; had we eaten on paper plates there wouldn't have been any clean up at all. I didn't appreciate the effort it took for G'ma to live up to Ladies Home Journal and Daddooooo's mom, the world's most judgmental mother-in-law. G'ma wrote out the week's menus and went to the Kosher butcher once a week, collecting minute steaks (arguably the toughest cut of meat on the poor dead beast) and chickens and ground beef. If it was Tuesday, it was spaghetti and tiny, rock hard meatballs with Ragu heated up on the stove. She became a better cook once the kids were out of the house, but I never entered into the "My Mom is a Better Cook Than Your Mom" contests. I didn't ...