Tell Me You Like My Cooking

So, if you don't follow me on Instagram (You're a big meany. Kidding, maybe just a little bit.) then you might not be aware that I have recently taken to my inner Betty Crocker roots. Take last night, for example, I decided I really wanted to make stuffed shells but I couldn't find one damn recipe on Pinterest that I really loved, so I decided to shoot from the hip and make my own damn recipe.

Before I knew it I was throwing ground beef, chopped onions and garlic, worcestershire sauce, ricotta, an egg, some parmesan, salt and pepper into a saute pan, followed by stuffing jumbo shells with my creation, dumping a jar of marinara, and placing slices of fresh mozzarella on top. After it sizzled to perfection in the oven for 30 minutes, I pulled out this glorious creation below, and we feasted like Italian champions. (I'm attempting to write up an exact recipe with real measurements to post for you guys, give me a day or two to figure out exactly how much of everything I used. You should know by now that my bestie Franzia is always my sous-chef and she tends to cause me to forget things from time to time.)

I know, I know, who am I? The answer to that is, I actually really, really love to cook and I have for as long as I can remember. My issue, though, has always been that I don't really, really love to just cook for myself. While I realize that sounds incredibly ridiculous, I'm telling you that I just can't do it, because when I cook I like to COOK. Meaning, I like to make a feast fit for at least four people, or enough for two people to eat for two days.

Perhaps I was meant to be an Italian or Jewish mother somewhere along the way. Minus the mother part...

Seriously though, cooking for one was one of the few things about the single life that I just couldn't hang with, regardless of how many times Erin tried to convince me it wasn't that bad. Yes, yes it was that bad, no matter how many times I tried to convince myself it wasn't. I just really hated it and you all know I really did grow to love the single life, but for some reason that one thing just stuck with me and I couldn't stand it.

And now I'll admit exactly why, and you guys can totally judge me for it because I definitely do. When I cook something that's as delicious as those shells up there, or that peanut butter s'more croissant, I've just got to share them with someone. And maybe (Most definitely.) it's because I like reassurance when something I make tastes good, especially when it's just something you threw in a pot out of thin air... but I feel like most everyone else does too, dammit. Or maybe not.

So, yeah, I guess that's my confession, or confessions, for the day.
Come on over and feast with me... but only if you tell me it's really, really good and that you want leftovers the following day. Thanks.

Oh, and don't tell me my cooking needs salt, or anything else... Just don't. It's perfect the way it is, got it?