“It’s a wonder English ever caught on,” said John McWhorter, “because it’s weirder than just about every other tongue.” English speakers know their language is odd. So do nonspeakers saddled with learning it. In countries where English is not spoken, there are no spelling bees. For a normal language, spelling corresponds to the way people pronounce the words. But English is not normal.
Anglophones are not exactly rabid to learn other languages. We’re left like the proverbial fish not knowing it’s wet. Our language feels normal, until you learn what normal really is.
We think it’s a nuisance that other European languages assign gender to nouns for no reason. But it’s we who are odd. Almost all European languages belong to one family–Indo-European–and all of them, except English, assign genders. There is exactly one language whose present tense requires a special ending only in the third-person singular. Why is English so eccentric? What made it this way?
English started out, essentially, a form of German. Old English is so unlike the modern version that it’s a stretch to think of them as the same language. Icelanders can still read stories written in the Old Norse ancestor of their language 1000 years ago, and yet, to an English-speaker’s eye, Beowulf might as well be in Turkish.
When the Angles and Saxons brought Germanic speech to England, the island was already inhabited by people who spoke Celtic languages, today represented by Welsh and Irish. The Celts were subjugated but survived, and since there were only about 250,000 Germanic invaders, very quickly most of the people speaking Old English were Celts.
The next thing that happened was that more German-speakers came across the sea. England was a tiny country and probably looked easy to dominate. That was the 9th century, and they didn’t impose their language. Instead they married local women and switched to English. They were adults and adults don’t learn new languages easily. There was no such thing as school and no media. Learning a new language meant listening hard and doing your best.
Then the Scandinavians arrived and spoke bad Old English. Young people learned what they could, but soon bad Old English became real English, and here we are today. The Norse made English easier. Old English had the crazy genders of a good European language, but the Scandinavians didn’t bother with those, so now we have none. What’s more, the Vikings mastered only the shred of a once-lovely system. They smoothed out the hard stuff. We can display all these bizarre Norse influences in a single sentence, but it’s what they did to English in those days.
Finally, as if all that weren’t enough, English got hit by a fire-hose spray of words from more languages. After the Norse, came the French. They conquered the English and ruled for several centuries, and before long English had picked up 10,000 new words. Then, in about the 16th century, educated Anglophobes developed English as a vehicle for sophisticated writing. They even cherry-picked some Latin words to lend a more elevated tone. English-speaking workers slaughtered animals to serve to the moneyed French speakers at the table.
Thus, English is indeed an odd language and the spelling is only the beginning. Then it becomes peculiar due to the slings and arrows–and caprices–of outrageous history. Now, don’t you wish you hadn’t wondered why English isn’t normal?
Wednesday, December 23, 2015
Thursday, December 17, 2015
SCAMS TO WATCH OUT FOR
SCAMS TO WATCH OUT FOR
Darn! I worte my blog post a week ago and then discovered Anne R. Allen wrote one on the same topic for her new blog. I’ve been a follower of hers for several years, so I recommend you-all read hers.
Meanwhile here’s mine. To identify scams related to newbies (beginning writers) check out the following tips.
1. LOTS OF PROMISES. Scam artists try to lure in beginning writers by promising that, if they sign up with their ideas and follow their rules, the writer will get lots of interest, which - according to them - will lead to requests for manuscripts and sales to the Big-5 publishers.
2. BELIEF THAT THEIR IDEAS will lead the new writer/author will find editors and publishers who are looking for just what original stories you write. But, if you check carefully, you’ll soon see that their writers/authors have very few actually-published books available for the newbie to read. Nor are they very good.
3. STUDIES THAT SHOW THEIR PRICES are much lower than what other such services charge for the same service they’re offering you. These claims can be checked out, which you should certainly do. The truth is that all services are vastly over-charging for what they promise to do for you. Don’t be fooled.
4. PRETENDING TO BE A VANITY PUBLISHER. I thought this one died a long time ago, but, no, it’s still showing up. Real publishers, and also agents, don’t need customers to tell them how good they are, or have been. Their real customers do that.
So, don’t get caught in the sticky palms of fake vanity or other kinds of publishers. It won’t be funny.
Have a very Happy Christmas season, and I will be back by then.
Phyllis
Darn! I worte my blog post a week ago and then discovered Anne R. Allen wrote one on the same topic for her new blog. I’ve been a follower of hers for several years, so I recommend you-all read hers.
Meanwhile here’s mine. To identify scams related to newbies (beginning writers) check out the following tips.
1. LOTS OF PROMISES. Scam artists try to lure in beginning writers by promising that, if they sign up with their ideas and follow their rules, the writer will get lots of interest, which - according to them - will lead to requests for manuscripts and sales to the Big-5 publishers.
2. BELIEF THAT THEIR IDEAS will lead the new writer/author will find editors and publishers who are looking for just what original stories you write. But, if you check carefully, you’ll soon see that their writers/authors have very few actually-published books available for the newbie to read. Nor are they very good.
3. STUDIES THAT SHOW THEIR PRICES are much lower than what other such services charge for the same service they’re offering you. These claims can be checked out, which you should certainly do. The truth is that all services are vastly over-charging for what they promise to do for you. Don’t be fooled.
4. PRETENDING TO BE A VANITY PUBLISHER. I thought this one died a long time ago, but, no, it’s still showing up. Real publishers, and also agents, don’t need customers to tell them how good they are, or have been. Their real customers do that.
So, don’t get caught in the sticky palms of fake vanity or other kinds of publishers. It won’t be funny.
Have a very Happy Christmas season, and I will be back by then.
Phyllis
Wednesday, November 25, 2015
Pumpkin Pecan Pies
My apologies for being late with this recipe. I’ve made it every year for over 20 years, and everyone loves it. It will stay here for another week, so be sure to copy it.
PUMPKIN PECAN PIE
Ingredients:
Pumpkin filling
One box yellow cake mix with pudding
1-1/2 cups chopped pecans
8 oz. butter, melted
Whipped cream
Caramel syrup
First buy some of those aluminum foil pie pans at the supermarket. Place two of them into regular glass or metal pie pans (otherwise you may have pie mix all over the floor!). Put a circle of waxed paper into the bottom of each foil pan.
Filling: 1 29-oz. can pumpkin pie mix
1 5-oz. can evap. milk
2 tsp cinnamon
3 beaten eggs
1 cup sugar
1/2 tsp salt
Mix thoroughly, pour into the two pans. Sprinkle half of the box of cake mix on top of each pie.
Sprinkle half of the chopped pecans over each pie. Drizzle half of the melted butter on top of each.
Bake for between 45 and 60 minutes at 350 degrees. (If you place the pie pans on a cookie sheet you can slide the whole thing into the oven easily.) Chill.
To serve, invert pie onto a serving plate, remove pie plate, peel off waxed paper. Cut each pie into eight wedges and top each with Whipped cream and a drizzle of caramel syrup. Makes eight servings (16 for two pies). This is very rich.
PUMPKIN PECAN PIE
Ingredients:
Pumpkin filling
One box yellow cake mix with pudding
1-1/2 cups chopped pecans
8 oz. butter, melted
Whipped cream
Caramel syrup
First buy some of those aluminum foil pie pans at the supermarket. Place two of them into regular glass or metal pie pans (otherwise you may have pie mix all over the floor!). Put a circle of waxed paper into the bottom of each foil pan.
Filling: 1 29-oz. can pumpkin pie mix
1 5-oz. can evap. milk
2 tsp cinnamon
3 beaten eggs
1 cup sugar
1/2 tsp salt
Mix thoroughly, pour into the two pans. Sprinkle half of the box of cake mix on top of each pie.
Sprinkle half of the chopped pecans over each pie. Drizzle half of the melted butter on top of each.
Bake for between 45 and 60 minutes at 350 degrees. (If you place the pie pans on a cookie sheet you can slide the whole thing into the oven easily.) Chill.
To serve, invert pie onto a serving plate, remove pie plate, peel off waxed paper. Cut each pie into eight wedges and top each with Whipped cream and a drizzle of caramel syrup. Makes eight servings (16 for two pies). This is very rich.
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
History, Travel and Recipes
Writing about Pal last week reminded me of other parts of my life: my history, travel and, maybe, recipes.
HISTORY
Curt is my third husband. Don’t look so shocked. Yes, Curt and I have been married a long time, but there were two others before him. The first was a very young man. (Weren’t we all young once upon a time?) We had two children together, but it wasn’t right for me so we divorced.
Husband number two was even younger, and I had one child with him, but that was also not right, and I got another divorce.
I was worried about my choices and was really afraid to marry again. However, I prayed a lot and we talked a lot, so a year later I did marry Curt and we’re still together, still in love.
TRAVEL
Curt worked for an airline, so we traveled. London, Paris, Germany, Italy, Mexico, Canada, and almost every large city in the U.S. He’d been married once before and had five children, so we had a total of eight. Traveling wasn’t easy, but we did it anyway. I loved traveling to places I’d never seen before and those images went into my books.
RECIPES
Sorry, no recipes this time. My daughter came to visit me for a few days, and I’d rather talk to her than write out recipes. Maybe next time. Forgive me and thanks for understanding.
Tuesday, November 3, 2015
MEMORIES OF PAL, THE COCKAPOO
When our two youngest sons, Marc and Dave, were seven and six, we acquired a puppy from a neighbor. The boys named him Palomino, because, being part miniature white poodle and part apricot cocker spaniel, they thought he was the color of a Palomino horse. As the dog grew, he turned white and resembled a poodle more than a cocker spaniel, but his legs were longer than poodles'. Fully grown, he weighed only fifteen pounds--mostly fur--and everyone called him Pal.
He adored the boys, played with them and let them tease him, never biting. Babies or small children, who pulled his hair or poked his eyes, were in no danger, either, because he simply crept away and hid. He learned tricks easily, such as "Sit Up," "Roll Over," and "Shake Hands" (with the right paw, of course).
Pal loved walks, and rushed to the front door whenever anyone picked up his leash. Occasionally Marc and Dave forgot to close the side gate, and Pal ran away for an afternoon or evening. Then they rode out on their bicycles to look for him, or I drove slowly around town in the car, calling his name. Most of the time we found him ourselves, or a neighbor called, since he wore a license with our phone number on his collar.
As the boys reached their teens, they became very conscientious about taking Pal for his last walk of the evening. We thought this had grown exceptionally long until we discovered that a family with three teenage daughters lived at the end of our block.
One summer morning I came downstairs, and, instead of Pal, I found a note saying he had run away while the boys were talking to the neighbor girls and they had not been able to find him. I roused them from bed and they searched for him on their bicycles, but they returned alone. Then I went out in the car, but also had no luck. I left the side gate open and went on with my activities, and about noon I heard a familiar bark from the back yard. There stood Pal in front of the sliding glass door, waiting to be let in. He was filthy, his hair matted and coated with dirt, and he headed instantly for his water dish and drank as if he had just crossed the Sahara.
He got a good bath and brushing and spent the rest of the day sleeping in his bed in the family room. That night, Marc and Dave got his leash, opened the front door and called to him, but Pal refused to go out. I could swear the look on his face said, "Oh, no, you lost me last night. I'm not going to do that again.”
Of course, by the next night he had forgotten his ordeal. He loved the boys and was up for anything they had in mind. When they were too busy for him, doing homework for instance, Pal would go into their rooms, find their discarded socks and carry them to his dog bed. A year later, while digging in the garden, my husband found a sock buried in the ice plant.
When Marc and Dave were away at upper school, my husband and I took Pal for his nightly walk, and at eleven o'clock he would pull his own leash off the railing and carry it into the front hall. The reward of one of his dog biscuit treats may have had something to do with his learning that.
Later he taught himself another trick. One night we heard a noise coming from the darkened kitchen. I tiptoed into the room and found that Pal had learned how to push open the door to the pantry (where his box of dog treats was kept on the lowest shelf) and had his head inside the box, busily eating as many as he could.
On Christmas day, Pal, who was not allowed in the living room at any other time, seemed to know that this was an exception and, gradually inched into the room. Then, getting bolder when no one scolded him, he rushed from one person to another, wagging his short tail, as if saying, "Merry Christmas from me too." His present--usually a new squeaky toy--was wrapped and placed under the tree, and at gift-opening time, he found it first, and bit the wrappings off. We never figured out how he knew which was his among the dozens of gifts, but perhaps it carried the smell of the pet store.
Our house was located on the lagoon that ran through the town, with a boat dock and small sailboat. Pal became an instant sailor and was the first into the boat when we hoisted the sails. Usually, he stood on the bow, letting the breeze lift his ears, sniffing the wind. If we didn't take him with us, he sat on the dock, looking forlorn, until we returned. Naturally, I put his leash on his collar and held the end in my hands, but he only lost his footing once, when we came about suddenly on a very windy day. When we sailed past neighbors' backyards, other dogs sometimes rushed down to the water's edge, or out onto their own docks to bark at him, but he never responded.
In fact, Pal almost never barked. Only a stranger coming to the front door could make him lose his cool. He had to be taught to "Speak" and it took quite a while and a lot of dog treats before he did it on command. Surprisingly, his bark was deep and loud, so that he sounded like a much larger animal. One night, when the boys were away at college and my husband was out of town on a business trip, Pal's barking woke me up and I didn't hesitate to grab the phone and call the police. Sure enough, they found evidence someone had come into our fenced-in back yard. Whoever it was had been scared off by the barking of a fuzzy white fifteen-pound Cockapoo.
He adored the boys, played with them and let them tease him, never biting. Babies or small children, who pulled his hair or poked his eyes, were in no danger, either, because he simply crept away and hid. He learned tricks easily, such as "Sit Up," "Roll Over," and "Shake Hands" (with the right paw, of course).
Pal loved walks, and rushed to the front door whenever anyone picked up his leash. Occasionally Marc and Dave forgot to close the side gate, and Pal ran away for an afternoon or evening. Then they rode out on their bicycles to look for him, or I drove slowly around town in the car, calling his name. Most of the time we found him ourselves, or a neighbor called, since he wore a license with our phone number on his collar.
As the boys reached their teens, they became very conscientious about taking Pal for his last walk of the evening. We thought this had grown exceptionally long until we discovered that a family with three teenage daughters lived at the end of our block.
One summer morning I came downstairs, and, instead of Pal, I found a note saying he had run away while the boys were talking to the neighbor girls and they had not been able to find him. I roused them from bed and they searched for him on their bicycles, but they returned alone. Then I went out in the car, but also had no luck. I left the side gate open and went on with my activities, and about noon I heard a familiar bark from the back yard. There stood Pal in front of the sliding glass door, waiting to be let in. He was filthy, his hair matted and coated with dirt, and he headed instantly for his water dish and drank as if he had just crossed the Sahara.
He got a good bath and brushing and spent the rest of the day sleeping in his bed in the family room. That night, Marc and Dave got his leash, opened the front door and called to him, but Pal refused to go out. I could swear the look on his face said, "Oh, no, you lost me last night. I'm not going to do that again.”
Of course, by the next night he had forgotten his ordeal. He loved the boys and was up for anything they had in mind. When they were too busy for him, doing homework for instance, Pal would go into their rooms, find their discarded socks and carry them to his dog bed. A year later, while digging in the garden, my husband found a sock buried in the ice plant.
When Marc and Dave were away at upper school, my husband and I took Pal for his nightly walk, and at eleven o'clock he would pull his own leash off the railing and carry it into the front hall. The reward of one of his dog biscuit treats may have had something to do with his learning that.
Later he taught himself another trick. One night we heard a noise coming from the darkened kitchen. I tiptoed into the room and found that Pal had learned how to push open the door to the pantry (where his box of dog treats was kept on the lowest shelf) and had his head inside the box, busily eating as many as he could.
On Christmas day, Pal, who was not allowed in the living room at any other time, seemed to know that this was an exception and, gradually inched into the room. Then, getting bolder when no one scolded him, he rushed from one person to another, wagging his short tail, as if saying, "Merry Christmas from me too." His present--usually a new squeaky toy--was wrapped and placed under the tree, and at gift-opening time, he found it first, and bit the wrappings off. We never figured out how he knew which was his among the dozens of gifts, but perhaps it carried the smell of the pet store.
Our house was located on the lagoon that ran through the town, with a boat dock and small sailboat. Pal became an instant sailor and was the first into the boat when we hoisted the sails. Usually, he stood on the bow, letting the breeze lift his ears, sniffing the wind. If we didn't take him with us, he sat on the dock, looking forlorn, until we returned. Naturally, I put his leash on his collar and held the end in my hands, but he only lost his footing once, when we came about suddenly on a very windy day. When we sailed past neighbors' backyards, other dogs sometimes rushed down to the water's edge, or out onto their own docks to bark at him, but he never responded.
In fact, Pal almost never barked. Only a stranger coming to the front door could make him lose his cool. He had to be taught to "Speak" and it took quite a while and a lot of dog treats before he did it on command. Surprisingly, his bark was deep and loud, so that he sounded like a much larger animal. One night, when the boys were away at college and my husband was out of town on a business trip, Pal's barking woke me up and I didn't hesitate to grab the phone and call the police. Sure enough, they found evidence someone had come into our fenced-in back yard. Whoever it was had been scared off by the barking of a fuzzy white fifteen-pound Cockapoo.
Wednesday, October 28, 2015
ANOTHER NEW BOOK
Hot on the heels of my cozy mystery, DEAD IN THE WATER, released on October 6, comes a woman-in-jeopardy mystery, EYEWITNESS, released on October 15. These aren’t self-published. DITW is from Gemma Halliday Publishing, and EYEWITNESS from Camel Press, a division of Coffeetown Press in Seattle. Another difference is that, although my name is on both books, EYEWITNESS was written with my long-time friend Carole, who writes under the pen-name Carolann Camillo.A big similarity in the two books, however, is that both were originally written many years ago, but only now found the right publisher. So I get to repeat what I said last week: “Persistence Pays.” This book went out 52 times since 2003 when I moved to Palm Desert and kept track on 3 x 5 cards. No, not 52 different publishers: some lucky companies got to see (and reject) it more than once. Eight of the publishers are no longer in business.
However, it wasn’t all sadness and gloom. We actually received three separate contracts before the one we accepted. The first loved our story but wanted us to add “four or five steamy sex scenes.” We actually wrote one as a sample, but their idea of “steamy” was apparently vastly different from ours. The second contract was withdrawn by the publisher due to a misunderstanding between an editor and me. (I take the blame for that, but I’m withholding publisher names to avoid anyone’s embarrassment.) Number three publisher “loved” our book, but her editor apparently did not. Said editor requested changes on 300 of the book’s 350 typewritten pages. We politely declined to rewrite that much.
In case you noticed, this is the second book Carole and I wrote together to be published. SOUTHERN STAR started as an Avalon Book, and when they sold the company to Amazon, it ended up a Montlake Romance. Stay tuned for news about the third one we wrote back when I still lived in San Francisco. That one has been rejected 46 times, and only 6 publishers are no longer in business, so we haven’t given up yet.
After 20 years of writing romance, both Carole and I are thrilled to be writing mystery because we both prefer to read mystery and have each had success with romantic-suspense. I also like self-publishing, and may do more, but there were good reasons to look for a traditional house for these two latest novels, and, so far, I’m really glad I did. Plus I like the covers they chose.
Wednesday, October 21, 2015
"POT-POURRI"
Is my title French for “Trivia?” Whether it is or not, this week I’ve assembled a group of items of interest. At least they interested me.
First, as promised last week, the winners of the Macavity Awards which were presented at the Bouchercom 2015 ceremonies:
BEST MYSTERY NOVEL was THE KILLER NEXT DOOR by Alex Marwood
BEST FIRST MYSTERY was INVISIBLE CITY by Julia Dahl
BEST NON-FICTION was ADVENTURES ON THE WRITER’S JOURNEY, by Hank Phillippi Ryan.
BEST MYSTERY SHORT STORY was HONEYMOON SWEET, by Craig Faustus Buck, which appeared in Bouchercom Anthology 2014.
The Barry Awards, from “Deadly Pleasures Magazine” at Bouchercom:
BEST NOVEL was NATCHEZ BURNING, by Greg Iles
BEST FIRST NOVEL was INVISIBLE CITY by Julia Dahl
BEST THRILLER was THOSE WHO WISH ME DEAD, by Michael Koryta.
* * *
On a somewhat lighter note:
1. An Italian man who was running late for his flight, decided to hold the plane up by calling in a bomb threat. The plane was delayed and searched, but when the man arrived at the airport and tried to board he was arrested. Lesson learned.
2. Employees at a Chinese company, who failed to make sales targets, were forced to crawl in public by taking a lap around a lake while supervisors watched to make sure they crawled. Most crawlers ripped their pants, but the photos went viral.
3. For the person who has everything: If you’re proud of your tattoo and don’t want it to die with you, a “Skin Art” company will come to your funeral home, slice off the tattoo and have it framed for your relatives. OMG
4. For those who have everything #2. If the Hydro Hammock is filled with 50 gallons of hot, bubbling water, it becomes a hot tub. Cost: $1495 and you provide the two strong trees to hang it from.
5. “No one will ever win the battle of the sexes. There’s too much fraternizing with the enemy.” Henry Kissinger.
6. Good news you were waiting for. For the first time since 2009, in September the NFL went an entire calendar month (month, as in 30 days) without any of its players being arrested.
7. For at least 25 minutes of running time, THE WALK is a “breathless, exhilarating movie experience.” But you have to watch the first two hours before that to see Frenchman Philippe Petit walk a cable across the World Trade Center towers in 1974.
8. Baabuk, a Swiss company, has made a sneaker out of natural wool that can be warn without socks. It’s cozy in the winter and breathes in the summer. Only $135 a pair.
9. In real estate to live in, not wear, you can buy a one-bedroom carriage house in Columbus, Ohio, for $219,900, or a five-bedroom in Newport, Rhode island, for $3,595,000. Glad you know?
10. And did you know Dominos is planning to sell its pizza in Italy? Or you can buy health insurance for your dog?
11. When assessing a possible match on dating sites, people put their grammar skills below their personal hygiene. However, just to be safe, use “advice,” not “advise” in the sentence, “His advise was worthless,” and “who’s”, not “whose” in “The man whose cooking dinner is a vegetarian.”
First, as promised last week, the winners of the Macavity Awards which were presented at the Bouchercom 2015 ceremonies:
BEST MYSTERY NOVEL was THE KILLER NEXT DOOR by Alex Marwood
BEST FIRST MYSTERY was INVISIBLE CITY by Julia Dahl
BEST NON-FICTION was ADVENTURES ON THE WRITER’S JOURNEY, by Hank Phillippi Ryan.
BEST MYSTERY SHORT STORY was HONEYMOON SWEET, by Craig Faustus Buck, which appeared in Bouchercom Anthology 2014.
The Barry Awards, from “Deadly Pleasures Magazine” at Bouchercom:
BEST NOVEL was NATCHEZ BURNING, by Greg Iles
BEST FIRST NOVEL was INVISIBLE CITY by Julia Dahl
BEST THRILLER was THOSE WHO WISH ME DEAD, by Michael Koryta.
* * *
On a somewhat lighter note:
1. An Italian man who was running late for his flight, decided to hold the plane up by calling in a bomb threat. The plane was delayed and searched, but when the man arrived at the airport and tried to board he was arrested. Lesson learned.
2. Employees at a Chinese company, who failed to make sales targets, were forced to crawl in public by taking a lap around a lake while supervisors watched to make sure they crawled. Most crawlers ripped their pants, but the photos went viral.
3. For the person who has everything: If you’re proud of your tattoo and don’t want it to die with you, a “Skin Art” company will come to your funeral home, slice off the tattoo and have it framed for your relatives. OMG
4. For those who have everything #2. If the Hydro Hammock is filled with 50 gallons of hot, bubbling water, it becomes a hot tub. Cost: $1495 and you provide the two strong trees to hang it from.
5. “No one will ever win the battle of the sexes. There’s too much fraternizing with the enemy.” Henry Kissinger.
6. Good news you were waiting for. For the first time since 2009, in September the NFL went an entire calendar month (month, as in 30 days) without any of its players being arrested.
7. For at least 25 minutes of running time, THE WALK is a “breathless, exhilarating movie experience.” But you have to watch the first two hours before that to see Frenchman Philippe Petit walk a cable across the World Trade Center towers in 1974.
8. Baabuk, a Swiss company, has made a sneaker out of natural wool that can be warn without socks. It’s cozy in the winter and breathes in the summer. Only $135 a pair.
9. In real estate to live in, not wear, you can buy a one-bedroom carriage house in Columbus, Ohio, for $219,900, or a five-bedroom in Newport, Rhode island, for $3,595,000. Glad you know?
10. And did you know Dominos is planning to sell its pizza in Italy? Or you can buy health insurance for your dog?
11. When assessing a possible match on dating sites, people put their grammar skills below their personal hygiene. However, just to be safe, use “advice,” not “advise” in the sentence, “His advise was worthless,” and “who’s”, not “whose” in “The man whose cooking dinner is a vegetarian.”
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