Patricia Wolf shouted out for the Apron Strings authors to roast their characters. How fun!
Nellie certainly opens the door to be teased. Sorta like I do sometimes when I spout off or do something without thinking it through. My husband has an endless supply of Amy stories!
Oh, Nellie. Sweet, starry-eyed, disaster-prone Nellie. You’re not so much a “fake it till you make it” girl as you are a “trip over the lie and land in the soup pot” type. Let’s be real: the only thing you’ve ever cooked up successfully is a web of confusion, served hot with a side of charm and a garnish of blarney.
You took a job in a kitchen — a kitchen, Nellie — despite having a culinary résumé that reads like a series of small fires and poor decisions. Your own family wouldn’t trust you to set the table, and now you’re out here impersonating Sheila Hibben (The Julia Child of the 1930s) with a cookbook you bought like it was a fashion magazine at a charity sale.
And let’s talk about that “talent for acting” you claim. Sure, you can fool people into thinking you belong at Clarinda House, but can you fool a roast into not being a charred apology? I mean, your greatest performance to date is convincing yourself this was a good idea in the first place.
As for wanting to be a truthful woman of faith — noble, really. But maybe start by telling the truth about whether that “herbed chicken” was actually meant to be soup. Mr. Mason Peale may admire honesty, but if he ever saw what you did to that pudding, he’d start praying for you instead.
So Nellie, you magnificent calamity with a wooden spoon, we’re all rooting for you — mostly to find the exit to the kitchen before someone calls the fire brigade. Again.
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