“We got so much food in America, we’re allergic to food. Allergic to food! Hungry people ain’t allergic to sh*t. You think anyone in Rwanda’s got a f*ckin’ lactose intolerance?” — Chris Rock

What an amazing month I’ve had in cooking school. Last I left you I was bloated and full from an amazingly decadent tasting menu at Maple Drive, my mother had buttered up the home-schooler Sabrina and I was ready to cook.

I came to class  Monday excited to cook fish. The first thing I encountered, however, was Sabrina’s gaping maw in my face.  I braced myself for an attack.

“Oh, your mother is so lovely! She was so charming. She made everybody feel comfortable. Why don’t you come and sit next to me? We can be partners on the next recipe!”

I stood in the middle of the room completely dumbfounded. Oh my God! Is she being nice to me?

And like some dumb kid on the playground, I forgot all transgressions and skipped off with her to play on the swings.

She was my partner for the next lesson.