Hoooooooooaaaaaaaaaa...

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I'm not really good at it, except for a few things most of which are fried, but I do like to cook.

Can I get a witness?

I get complaints that some of the stuff I cook no one but me can eat it. That suits me fine. More for me.

It's another reason I look forward to the Fire Ant Festival next month. Polish sausage dogs with extra onions & peppers and enough grease to lubricate even the most obstinant congressman.

And the, deep fried Oreos.

Deep. Fried. Oreos.

No. I am not kidding. Frankly, I do not care if you believe me either. Just means more for me.

Every now and then something comes along that just screams to be cooked.

brownie batter ... poured over oreos ... arranged over cookie dough ... also known as Santa's Suicide.

My sister Rachel likes to bake, but she's also a deer shot from Tennessee. A bit far. Grandma is cooking with Granny Nancy and Aunt Ginger has her hands full with grandkids. Mom can cook, but it's hard for her to get around these days.

I don't know if Juanita Wheeler or Mary Wynn could be talked into cooking one of these. Considering Juanita's fried pies and Mary's layer chocolate cake, I don't care if they can cook the above.

Which leaves ... me.

The above recipe looks simple. And it probably is for some people.

Not for me. I can fry anything. I have been known to make fairly decent scratch banana bread, but that one above looks serious complicated.

Of course if someone wants to cook one I will be glad to taste test it...