The guys here at work are always on me to bake or cook for them "seeing as I'm a woman". Now don't let this fool you, lots of the guys here cook on a regular basis and they do a darn good job.
We've got an built-in oven and a regular stove top, so the men can cook a full course meal if things run OK. Some of my best meals are out here in the plant, cooked by some hard-ankle with a nickname like "Roper" or "JR" and might involve anything from turnip greens with smoked turkey to a venison roast to homemade spaghetti. They always do a mean breakfast - eggs every-which-way, gravy, grits, bacon, sausage (both pork and deer) and biscuits. We eat good, as you could tell if you saw MY hind quarters or the gut lots of these guys drive around. (Why is it when men get older they lose their ass and get this huge gut? Just how do they keep their britches up, it defies the laws of gravity!!)
Today, I brought the fixings to make both a blackberry and a peach cobbler. Not little cobblers either, each one completely filled a sheet cake pan. Of course I just had to bring along one of those 2 1/2 gallon buckets of ice cream, you can't have cobbler hot out of the oven without ice cream!!
Now every one is in a cobbler-induced coma. I heard one man claim that "I think I got blackberries in my eye" when asked why his head was nodding and his eyelids looked droopy. I think the whole department has OD'ed on sugar and it's my fault or so they're saying when I tell them to get up and walk it off.
It's a good thing the plant is running well, because I don't think anyone is in any shape to run up the staircase to the 11th floor, at least I know that I'm not!. Now come on quitting time, I need a nap.