Every time I use a pressure cooker, I think of that scene in ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s’.

You know – the one where Holly has decided to be super domestic and make dinner for Paul. He’s quite impressed by her sudden prowess in the kitchen…until her pressure cooker explodes. Rice and chicken spew all over her kitchen. Pretty little Holly’s dinner is ruined and she’s left with her hair full of rice.
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It’s official. I am NOT a fan of turnips.

It pains me to say it. I’ve tried to like them. I’ve fried them. I’ve mashed them. I’ve made them au gratin. I’ve covered–no smothered–them in cheese. And, I just can’t do it.

I’m really not a hater. In general, but especially when it comes to food. It’s true. I’ve always been a hearty eater, willing to try just about anything. My parents never had to hide the broccoli in my macaroni and cheese or make me sit at the table until my plate was cleared. It just wasn’t an issue. I’m one of those people who eats everything on her plate. Or, at least eats equal portions of everything. I’m a compassionate eater–I don’t want the creamed spinach to feel left out.

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