When I left home at the age of 23 to go to Caracas, Venezuela, I took two large cardboard boxes with me containing school supplies (as I was going to teach fourth grade), linens, a few books and some clothes. I also took my grandmother’s 1950 Betty Crocker cookbook.
My roommate and I ate out most of the time, but when we did decide to stay home we each had our cooking strengths. She could make chili and I could make popcorn and chocolate chip cookies. We lived together for three years and never made a proper meal — and my cookbook was never opened. (October 22, 2010, Page 2B)