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Between the recipes on epicurious, an obsession with Top Chef and a firm belief that every dish tastes better with Gorgonzola added to it, I've turned into a pretty good cook. I've even learned to bake a mean pie.

But cakes? Cakes are a different story. My cakes never turn out well. That is up until yesterday, when I finally achieved the impossible: I baked a damn fine cake.

I have to give props to the Barefoot Contessa (a name I love . . . why couldn't I be the Barefoot Contessa? The Barefoot Writer doesn't sound nearly as elegant). My success was entirely due to her delicious Lemon Cake recipe. If you like lemons, try this one . . . it's fabulous, and has gone a long way to rehabbing my cake baking reputation among the family.

My other well-known domestic failing is the care and feeding of plants. I am a plant killer. I try, I really do. I water, I fertilize, I provide sunlight. But despite my best efforts, all of my plants die. It's like I have the horticultural kiss of death.

But now . . . now I have finally succeeded. Behold my flower box:

It's green, it's lush, the flowers are blooming! It's -- dare I say it? -- thriving! I think this might be a miracle!

It turns out I am a Domestic Goddess. Who would ever have thought? Surely not my husband. As I frequently had to remind him back when we were first married, and he didn't yet know not to ask if I had plans to do the laundry or grocery shopping:

"You did not marry Susie Fucking Homemaker."

He now knows better than to ask if he has any clean socks. Much, much better.

So what a shock to find out that all along there was a Susie Fucking Homemaker lurking inside me, just waiting for her chance to shine.

Posted 27 August 2007 at 10:25 AM