But that’s just not me, and
there have been times
where that fact has
caused me great turmoil. I
have spent hours frantically
scouring the internet to
find a recipe that was both
easy to follow and one
where I recognized the
name of all the
ingredients, and then
would nervously bring
the dish, hoping no one
would even ask who
brought it, just in case it
wasn’t good.
Dessert? Forget about it. I
brought pumpkin pie (from a can)
to my family Thanksgiving celebration
a few years ago - thank goodness I’m
related to a bunch of people who like to pile
whip cream on top of their pumpkin pie - it saved
me from the fact the top of the pie looked like the ground surface of the Black Rock Desert, crevices shooting every which way. Cookies? Break and bake folks. It’s better for all of us if I go this route, trust me.
Don’t get me wrong. I’ve proudly reached a point where I have a few dinners I can make at home that taste pretty good. I make a mean salad - credit to my college and single days for this. I survived on a diet that didn’t require touching the stove or oven. Nuts, seeds, fruits, veggies; I’m pretty sure some sort of bird is my spirit animal.
But group gatherings are a whole different ball game. They are the adult social equivalent to a fifth grade science fair. It’s everyone’s chance to show off their creations and then promptly reveal their culinary secrets when the judges say “mmm.”
And this is where I realized the root of my anxiety. Assuming everyone was “judging.” What I’ve learned through trial and error is that people are much less judgy in these scenarios than you might expect. And furthermore, if you do come across those who are making you feel bad about your lack of the Betty Crocker gene, then you probably don’t want to be at a dinner party with them anyway.