I encounter a notion every once in a while - reiterated recently in an anecdote from Joe Yonan's splendid 'Serve Yourself,' wherein a potential love interest condescends to him because he's got a cookbook open on the counter - that depending upon another's recipes is essentially admitting that you can't cook. Well then, in our collective defense:
A#1: If someone is kind enough to cook for you, shut up and say "Thank you!"
C#3: I've said this ad infinitum: if it tastes good, it IS good. Doesn't matter if the dish burst forth from your head fully formed, your Grandmother built the muscle memory into your little toddler hands, you picked it up watching Avec Eric or you spent hours upon hours leafing through your stash of books.
If the dish is made with love, care and the freshest ingredients the cook can find, does the source of inspiration matter?
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