God. Cooking meat, real meat meat, not the chickens THAT I LOVE but just aren’t…I dunno…meat…you know what I’m saying….I don’t even know what I’m saying, is just so….coooooool. It’s a feeling of intense pride that I just don’t get from roasting a chicken, ok??? Perhaps because it’s kind of foreign to me in my little home kitchen. Something I am just used to ordering at fawn-cy restaurants, done by real chefs. Now, when I’m sitting around, brainstorming dinner, my thoughts won’t just automatically go to another way to season chicken or marinate a steak. It goes to porkchops, crusted lamb, steak au poivre. And whatever else these people are willing to teach me. And not just because I want to “challenge” myself (I do that sometimes with difficult, tedious cookbooks…the ones where every ingredient is a recipe from a different page and makes you want to shoot yourself in the face). Truth is, NONE of these were a challenge at all.