Free Goldy's Kitchen Cookbook by Diane Mott Davidson

can get into their university. These recruiters will whip kids into a frenzy to apply. In fact, those universities are using these kids, the great majority of whom they will reject, as a way to inflate their acceptance rate statistics.
    But what was really distressing was seeing how a class—and I witnessed thisrepeatedly—that had been made up of friends, disintegrated under the competitive pressure of Who Is Going Where, or even, Who Is Applying Where. This is how I came up with the first line for The Cereal Murders : “I’d kill to get into Stanford.”
    I wrote the book. But before sending it to my editor, I had to test out my Killer Competition hypothesis. So I scooted down to a Denver meeting of college admissions deans. I put the manuscript in the hands of the director of admission at Stanford, and said if he had any problems, please to let me know. (I never heard from him.)
    At that same Denver meeting, though, I heard an anecdote that actually proved my hypothesis, although not in the life-or-death terms of my story. During one of the breaks, I talked with the dean of admissions at Bowdoin. (Yes, some are called directors, some are called deans. It probably won’t help your child’s case if she addresses her letters to the Chief Gatekeeper. ) When I told the very kind man from Bowdoin what I was writing about, he responded with a story: When he’d previously been dean of undergraduate admissions at Duke, his office had received a letter from a highly valued applicant from a high school in Texas. In her letter, she said that she had changed her mind, and asked that her application to Duke be withdrawn.
    His office wrote back a pro forma letter thanking the young woman for her communication withdrawing her application. Duke was sorry to lose her as an applicant, but wished her all success in her academic career.
    A week later, the dean received a frantic call from the college counselor at the applicant’s high school. She said, “That young woman never withdrew her application to Duke. Please send us the letter your office received, so we can analyze the handwriting and find out who did.”
    As you’ve no doubt guessed, the letter had been written by a classmate who was also applying to Duke.
    My editor loved the anecdote and the story. As they say at Stanford, “Q.E.D., baby.”

Jailbreak Potatoes
    â€” PRIME CUT —
    This became another family favorite. I will sometimes use half grated Gruyère and half grated Parmesan.
    4 large russet (baking) potatoes
    2 tablespoons unsalted butter
    Â½ cup heavy (whipping) cream
    Â½ teaspoon salt
    Â¼ teaspoon or more white pepper
    Â½ cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
    1. Preheat the oven to 400˚F. Scrub and prick each potato 3 or 4 times (in the center of one side) with a fork. Bake the potatoes for 1 hour, or until flaky. Remove from the oven and cool slightly. (Leave the oven on. Butter a rimmed baking sheet.)
    2. In a large bowl, with an electric mixer fitted with the whisk attachment, measure in the butter, cream, salt, pepper, and Parmesan. Using a sharp knife, cut the flat top side of each potato (where you pricked it) at a 45-degree angle to remove an oval of skin. (Visualize cutting out the top of a pumpkin.) Using a spoon, scoop most of the potato out of the interior into the bowl with the other ingredients. Leave a thin layer of potato inside the skin. Scrape the potato from the back of the removed ovals of potato skin into the bowl.
    3. Whip the potato mixture until smooth. Taste and correct the seasoning.
    4. Dividing the whipped potato mixture evenly, spoon it back into the skins. Place the stuffed potatoes on the baking sheet and bake for 15 minutes, or until the filling is thoroughly heated.
    Makes 4 servings

Slumber Party Potatoes
    â€” PRIME CUT —
    Yes, back in the day I actually used to make these for our kids’ slumber parties. (I also asked the kids to do taste tests. They would