My sister Katharine is an amazing cook. I am usually a reasonable cook. There is a
huge difference, and it should not be trifled with.
Marianne asked me to bring a dessert to a dinner party and, it being Mother's Day, I decided to try being domestic. And that's how I started the fire.
We're not talking a little bit of smoke, or some blackening. We're talking a sheet of flame
leaping out of the oven and blackening the stove top. We're talking a thick haze of smoke throughout the house. We're talking a mad scramble for fire extinguishers, and my husband dumping water all over the pan.
The picture above shows my disastrous, hilariously charred (and soggy) attempt at Portuguese
pasteis de nata, the recipe my accomplished sister gave me. The picture below shows the way they
should look.
From now on, I'm sticking to art. And I'm handing in my apron. I just don't deserve it.
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