Meals In Heels
For the last several years, multiple times a week, I have gotten up, strapped on my heels, applied my lipstick and started cooking. Oh, and how I make magic; it's my "Meals in Heels" Program. There are no eligibility requirements to be a beneficiary of said program I take them all, you need only ask. However most of the time I just end up on your doorstep. I've cooked for all kinds of people; sick friends, firemen, neighbors, terminally ill patients oh and who can forget my darling lamb chop Savannah, freshman at ASU. The only common thread is a heart in need.
I pounded so many chicken breasts I've lost track. My dry rub with homemade barbecue sauce would make you weep. My soufflés are light and airy, my vinaigrette has just the right touch. I've mastered many a sauce both savory and sweet. Admittedly many of the dishes I make are new to me, I just try to get to the heart of the matter and find out what would rock whomever I'm cooking for's world. In other words I'm a glutton for punishment.
But here's my point. Why is everyone so shocked? Okay I get it I don't wear sensible shoes and yes I do enjoy my cleavage and I've never denied that I love my Chardonnay. Is that really a problem? Why can't fashion and compassion go hand in hand? I can totally roll up my sleeves and get to work while still wearing a pair of Miu Miu's. Last time I checked, doing good things does not require you leave your lipstick or high heels at home. So to everyone of you who raise their unplucked eyebrows at me … Today I'm cooking beef Bourguignon and Chicken Divan … what are you doing? I'm just saying!
