As what would a weblog be without the at least occasional, melodramatic confession, today — a morning after which not a single new thing was prepared in the Smitten Kitchen last night (Tuesday’s yoga and volleyball night, and I’ll let you work who does what. Always such mystery!) — seems the perfect time to dislodge one of mine: Sometimes I cook things, love them to pieces, but hate the photos I took of the dishes so I never tell you about them. Can you imagine anything more pathetic? The pictures make me cringe so much that it upstages the deliciousness within! Could I be a little more crackpot, a little less rock-and-roll?