I used to hate cooking. HATED it. I grew up on hot dogs, hamburgers, frozen burritos, and breakfast cereal. And ice cream. Don’t blame my parents. Don’t blame my parents: I take full responsibility for my culinary decrepitude.

My mom did her best, but it was sort of feast or famine. She made awesome potato salad, but didn’t have a clue about how to cut the recipe for what must have been twenty pounds of potatoes. This always seemed ironic to me, considering that she was an 8th grade algebra teacher. So we had potato salad for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for at least two months at a stretch. I’m not exaggerating. Seriously. When the batch was finally gone, we celebrated by going out for Mexican food. Her other specialty was steak. I have many fond memories of being in the kitchen when she was broiling those bits of cow, with flames shooting out of the oven door. I kid you not.

Dad…well, despite his best intentions and proclamations of his kitchen prowess gave us the joys of gazpacho soup made in a stainless steel bowl, conveying that lovely metallic flavor to our tastebuds, and while camping had to improvise while making pancakes because he forgot to bring a spatula. Note that hunting knives make very small, irregular pancakes.

I love my parents dearly, but my kitchen heritage left much to be desired.

Spin the Wheel of Time forward a few decades, to where I was staring at some startlingly bad cholesterol numbers, with my doctor unhelpfully muttering, “I’ve never seen results this bad.” Those numbers, I believe, are in large part genetic, as at that point in my life I wasn’t eating horribly bad (I’d added a few decent things to the hot dogs and burritos), but the numbers didn’t lie.

That, along with research I started doing into Genetically Modified Organisms (GMOs) for a book I was working on, was the catalyst for my nascent interest in cooking. Having small noisy humans called “children” also helped push my interest in cooking from an act of desperate survival to peaceful coexistence with something that had to be done…to enjoyment.

Cooking. Enjoyment. Even, dare I say now, joy. I enjoy cooking. I whine to my long-suffering wife that, because I don’t have anough people to cook for (it’s just the two of us now; the boys are out on their own, eating hot dogs and burritos), I can’t get in enough cooking time. If I’m on a treadmill that has a little TV screen, I’ll watch the Food Network. I love my Instant Pot and kitchen gadgets of every kind. So I decided to share my passion with you through this, my humble web site.

As for the rest of my illustrious background, I’m a veteran from the Cold War era (you can get a summary of my time in the Army by watching Stripes), a Federal employee by day, a bestselling (on a few occasions) Amazon author of sci-fi and fantasy novels when my muse comes to visit, and a die-hard RVer who loves to travel. At present, we’re in Hawaii for a few years, which will probably be my twilight tour before I retire. After that, my wife and I plan to hit the road full-time in our RV, and bring all this cooking goodness with us on the road!