My neighborhood holds an annual cooking contest the Sunday before Labor Day.
The stakes? Bragging rights and cheese knives.
The contestants? Everyone on the block.
The outcome? My Chinese American husband dominated for years. Then I started entering chocolate baked goods and crushed him. The hostess finally created two categories, one for “Savory” and one for “Sweet.” Andy vengefully jumped categories and destroyed me with caramel pear ice-cream.
Two years ago, we tied. Last year, the contest was canceled because of COVID.
Two weeks ago, this showed up in my mailbox:
