I have delusions of grandeur.

At the book store, we recently received an "oops" shipment of bargain books. These books were labeled as "hurts;" for those of you who are unfamiliar with the term, it refers to stock that has been damaged in some way or has some slight flaw. Since these books were an additional 75% off and it was incredibly slow because the rest of the state was watching a Packer game, I decided to take a wander through the shelves.

I ended up purchasing several books, three of which were food books of some sort. The first was the Top Chef Quickfire Challenge Cookbook:

With this purchase I envisioned myself running around a shiny kitchen while tending to three simmering pots while roasting vegetables in the oven and toasting cumin seeds in a pan. Like Richard Blais, Rick Moonen, or Marcel Vigneron. Though in my fantasy my hair did NOT vaguely resemble a chocolate chip.

The next book I picked up was the Irish Pub cookbook.

This time, I envisioned myself knitting or doing some other incredibly domestic craft while a large pot of stew wafts aromas throughout the house and bread rises on the counter.


The last book I picked up was the Stonewall Kitchen Appetizers cookbook.

Picture, if you will, me as the hostess of a party; I dash effortlessly between the kitchen and main room, keeping plates filled and mingling with guests while looking elegant in a cocktail dress and heels.

Or did this already happen?

The answer to that question is "no," by the way.