a dark and terrible secret

Now here's where I brag, and in the course of it, expose my shame to you fine people. I just bought myself a Le Creuset 9-1/2-Quart Oval French Oven, Blue. Well, not technically this one. The one I bought was from eBay.

This brings my total Le Creuset collection to the following:

• Four 7-3/4-Ounce Ramekins
• One Stoneware Petite Casserole
• One 2-3/4-Quart Soup Pot
• One 3.5 quart Round French Oven
• One Precision Pour Sauce Pan 1.25-qt
• One 9-Inch Iron Handle Skillet
• One Stoneware 1-1/4-Quart Rectangular Baker with Bonus 16-Ounce Rectangular Baker

I still covet a few items, such as the square skillet grill I have on back order and the tagine (which is better left coveted for now), but I can't wait to jump in and use everything. Unfortunately that means I have to learn how to cook at a higher level than Hot Pockets, Lean Cuisine, and spinach dip. To that end, as I quietly amass my collection of exciting and pretty blue cookware, I have also acquired a library of cookbooks ranging from easy to dangerous, as well as a sizeable backlog of "Good Eats" episodes. Here, I announce to you, that I will begin the arduous and painful journey of learning something new. Nay, embracing a wholly heretofore unrecognizable aspect of my character and accept the family legacy. I will cook. I will cook with my cookware. And it will be good.

I admit defeat, that free will is a sham, and the desire to stew and braise and sautee is encoded in the twisted fibers of my DNA, even as I fought it all those years, even as I lay down my apron and my spatula and deferred these skills to my sister, I secretly wished that *I* was the one roasting things and creating stock. But here I am, some subtle part, slowly and methodically purchasing the tools of my undoing. I wake to find a Salter digital food scale, a flour sifter, a food processor, even a rice cooker waiting patiently for me to rise to the challenge. Infecting my kitchen, like a chef's plague.

And here I am. Tricked into my birthright by a bunch of shiny, pretty things. Where will this madness end?