It was Christmas, and I was as excited as a 6-year-old whom Santa had just blessed with a new bright red bike. I had just opened the greatest present from my niece and nephew and family — something I had been planning to buy for myself for several months; but other more urgent items on my To Do List kept taking priority (like ‘Call plumber about leaky faucet’, ‘Reduce astronomical telephone bill’, ‘Check senior living options in case of catastrophic fall’ …)
My gift from my family? A subscription to one of the popular meal preparation kit services. What an inspired idea! I had long claimed that anyone who can read a recipe can cook; and that I, too, could be as good a chef as Martha Stewart, or any of the other TV masters and mistresses of haute cuisine whose assistants shop for, assemble, and measure out all the ingredients needed to create a mouth-watering Beef Bourguignon or Cassoulet de Toulouse. I don’t know what that is, but with a recipe and all the ingredients I was sure I’d be able to cook it — or anything… Here was my chance to prove it!
A week later a box with my first selection — Hot Honey Barbecue Chicken Legs — arrived. It was heavy! Inside were two huge ice packs, two plastic-encased chicken legs, and a large paper bag containing a variety of vegetables and lots of miniature bottles and tiny plastic envelopes with the necessary spices and garnishes. Emblazoned on the bag, in big, bold letters were the words THIS IS GOING TO BE FUN! I believed it. It was a lie.
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