Tonight, the Phillips' dinner table hosts a "Mediterranean meets the Far East" extravaganza! I am eager to witness this landmark event, as the egg roll wrapper attempts to craft the calzone. Eager, and not a little curious. Do wish me luck, won't you?

My family, especially my father's side, has blessed me with many unique recipes. I consider my ancestors nothing short of culinary geniuses...thank goodness they cannot see the farcical kitchen show that we of the 5th generation orchestrate. We do try....

A couple of years ago, I wanted to impress Miles with my then limited cooking skills. I called Mom and asked her for the recipe to great-grandma's chicken. It's always been called great-grandma's chicken—always! I knew it by no other name. My grandparents called it so, my aunts, uncles, parents, and cousins too.

So I'm trying to get the recipe for this terribly tasty chicken and Mom is fumbling with the recipe cards in her memory bank. After many painful moments of failed recollection, she stated, "Just get a box of cornflake crumbs. The recipe is on the back."

Disillusionment stung. Unless my family was sitting on a secret Kellogg's fortune, my great-grandma's recipe was not my great-grandma's at all. In the scheme of things, I've found that this matters very little. I still call it great-grandma's chicken. My children will call it great-great grandma's chicken...that's just the way the cookie crumbles.

And speaking of cookies...(How's that for a segue? *nudge, nudge...wink, wink*)

My brother and I grew up thinking that Mom's chocolate chip cookies were the very best of all things. They tasted better than all other chocolate chip cookies, I still attest. Barely out of the oven, they were warm and fluffy...the chocolate silky and smooth.

You guessed it: the recipe comes straight from the Toll House chocolate chip package...I doubt my family is sitting on a Nestlé fortune either.

Friday night, in a kitchen utensil aisle, I pick up a tool and prepare to toss it in the cart. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! What's that?"

I respond to the excitable lad by showing him the tag. "But, what's it for!?" questioned he. Again, I drew attention to the label. "Yeah, I know what it's called, but what do you use it for?" Deep breath, Laura. This may all be one of his mind games...one of his, "how far can I ride the irritating pony before I get tossed" stunts.

I waved the tag in front of his face once more and commanded bluntly, "Read it aloud and think about it."

He paused. "Potato Masher. Oh."