The qualities of a successful cook are akin to those of a tightrope walker.

- Bryan Miller

My baby sister turned 50 last week, and I called to wish her well (and save money on postage).

I told her I remembered when they brought her home from the hospital a half-century ago and my other sister and I stared at her for hours in the bassinet, watching her sleep.

Considering all the excitement of her birth, we were apparently under the illusion that babies were tremendously entertaining. The adults, after all, had been talking about her for months.

Now the family cherub was here, and we found her slightly less interesting than watching the new Maytag's spin cycle.

Besides, we were just glad Mama had finally come home from the hospital and we would not have to eat Daddy's cooking anymore.

That was the lasting memory of my baby sister's birth - hunger.

Now understand, this was in a pre-McDonald's America when "fast-food" was a term used for rapidly moving game. My father was a tall, hard-working junior executive who went from his mother's kitchen to the Navy, then to marriage without learning how to cook anything.

He didn't have to.

Not until my mother went into the hospital's maternity ward for a week. (That's what they used to do back then.)

With starvation looming for not only him but also his 5-year-old son and 4-year-old daughter, he took matters into his own hands.

Those hands began to crack eggs into a frying pan and before you could say, "How do you turn the gas on this thing?" he was scrambling away.

In hindsight, it might have helped if butter, margarine or some lard had been used, but it wasn't.

The eggs - quite a lot of them as I recall - took on the chewy consistency and taste of rubber bands.

For dessert, we had toast.

It was a menu he stuck to for several days, despite a lack of success.

As I recall, an aunt finally came to our rescue, traveling overnight on the train to get to our house and save the day. ("Yay!" we said then, and still say today.)

Well, we all survived. My father developed a fine touch on the steak grill but never did solve kitchen work past basic boiling.

My baby sister grew up, had her own babies and a few months ago, one of them made her a grandmother.

As for myself, I never forgot that sometimes you have to provide for those under your roof and at your table.

When that happens, I have found success in making one thing consistently.

Reservations.