I have always hated to cook. It’s just soooo easy to walk to the Thai place on the corner of my street or order from the magical man who delivers food to my door! Yes, it’s the blessing and the curse of city living. Also, my dad is a really great cook and since I live less than two miles from my parent’s house, I’m always happy to go there with a grocery bag and pretend that their fridge is a super market. It’s wonderful. I even bring a nice canvas bag to avoid that new bag tax.
But there is one sneaky magazine which has sparked my interest in cooking – Southern Living. See what they do is fill the magazine with things I really love like interior design, monogrammed bedding, travel, southern literature, home improvement, and gift guides. I then start to imagine myself as a well-mannered woman who lives this life, drawl and all. So when I get to the cooking section in the back of the book, I feel like it’s all part of my world. They trick me those clever southerners! And the worst part is that I don’t even mind.
Sitting right around the Mason Dixon line is tough. Born and bred Washingtonians are neither northerners or southerners. We are in fact from a place known across the country as “inside the Beltway” where evil goons try to take your money and trick ya with their Washington ways. We’re not charming, we’re Washingtonians! But when I read Southern Living, I feel like I’m Scarlett O’Hara with an iphone. All of a sudden I’m charming, every odd and end in my house is fetching yet meaningful, the pillows are monogrammed and my life is in bloom. All this from a 132 page magazine that even inspires me to cook. Who knew it could be done!