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My mother started each of us kids cooking dinner once a week when I was about 12 years old. Somewhere in the teenage years, I ended up cooking a meal for the family plus my stepsister and stepbrother. I'd picked this recipe out of a cookbook and followed the directions scrupulously, but it was pretty awful. Naturally, the cook gets the blame, not the cookbook author!! They've never let me live it down. It was some kind of dish where bread was done up like French toast, and then with some kind of ketchup mixture on it, and baked in the oven. It was hideous!
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