Clutching the copy of The Joy of Cooking I had pilfered from my great aunt's bookshelf as if it would somehow protect me, I walked up to the door of the guest house with all the grace and courage I could muster, and opened the door. A fresh breeze blew in off Lake Michigan, filling the airy entryway with the bouquet of scents that make up Door Country limestone beaches, smoking fish, pitch pines and midwest tradition. I breathed it in. This was not a vacation; this was a test.

I had prepped for weeks for this, the first encounter with the future in-laws and their extended family a whole gaggle of gracious ladies and hungry gentlemen from scattered points around flyover country as they descended on Sturgeon Bay for the Fourth of July. It was a longstanding family tradition of lounging, fishing, and eating obscene amounts of the women's blue ribbon prize-winning home cooking, culminating in the family's giant Independence Day feast, where the best of the best was on display for everyone's viewing, and eating, pleasure.

I was assigned the pie. The test to see if the girl from the big city could be a proper wife and keep their loving son fed.(Apparently my vast knowledge of the best and cheapest places to eat out in New York didn't count) The only small problem was I had never actually made a pie. So for weeks I practiced, watching YouTube videos of Julia Child or Martha Stewart whipping up extraordinary pastries and following along in my tiny galley kitchen, only to turn out crusts that could chip your teeth or filings so sticky you could barley swallow them. None of this was helped by my fiancee's constant whistling of "Can she bake a cherry pie?"

I made my way down the hallway of my bungalow and into the kitchen, the sense of fear and dread welling up inside of me. But there on the counter was a little bundle tied up with string, my name handwritten on the outside of an envelope. I opened it. Someone wise once said, "Approach love and cooking with reckless abandon." I think the trick is to look good doing both thought these would help. Good Luck! Aunt Sue

I undid the bundle.Inside was a sweet, handmade vintage apron, and two index cards stapled together, with "TOP SECRET: 4th of July Boysenberry Pie" written at the top. I put on the apron, tying its rick-rack apron strings behind my back in a big bow, pulled the butter from the fridge, and took a deep breath.