When I was in junior high, I was into what could best be called “experimental cooking.”  I eschewed cookbooks, preferring to mix and match whatever was in the cupboard to put dinner together. One of my concoctions (the precise ingredient list I’ll spare you here) involved pork chops, curry, apple sauce, and brown rice. Dad took one bite, then turned to me and said, “Someday, my dear, your husband is going to have to thank me for this … Thanks to you, I have a cast iron stomach!” Eventually — when my father’s caustic commentary finally got through to me — I turned to my […]