My brother recently emailed me this photo of my sister-in-law and my nephew. They took this photo because they were in a mall and saw "my" oven as the centerpiece of a Williams Sonoma display:
My sis-in-law is lovely as always...but what is it with 14-year-old boys? I too speak of Michael when I observe -- what is with the perpetually sullen look? These are happy kids, btw.
Anyway, I digress. I meant to lecture you all on the domestic arts, at which I now accept my goddess-ness, notwithstanding my inability to cook. To wit, people love to visit my kitchen and excise, I mean exercise, their culinary skills in my kitchen because of that same La Cornue stove. This is the same stove that the French would only ship by airmail, btw, when we ordered it years ago as la casa was being constructed. When I learned of such foolishness, the stove was already on its way so it was too late for me to switch to another stove -- as I groused at the hubby over the bill, "What? Is that stove being seated in First Class and cossetted with cashmere blankets?!!!!"
I digress again. The point is that this particular stove is apparently all hot and the rage etcetera etcetera (and as a result its current price is also more than double what I'd paid). But I chose it because it was a great-looking sculpture (the culinary cognoscenti choose it for its cooking marvelousnesses, but I know nothing about such.) My point? Aesthetics matter ... and that is why Moi is a domestic goddess.