Who’s your favorite famous cook? Paula Deen? Martha Stewart? Grandma? We all have one, as well as at least one infamous cook. You know those I mean — like the gal who allows her cats to roam the countertops while preparing tasty ingredients for a potluck.

For me, the one who truly cooks with love is best. Anybody can follow a recipe, but there is something magical when love is a primary ingredient. A love for good food, respect for the ingredients and love for those who will eat your delicacies are critical. When love is missing, well, the proof is in the pudding.

A planned potluck was arranged with each participant using the same recipes and working with the same ingredients for chicken casserole, salad, rolls and dessert. No two dishes looked or tasted the same. It was an epic fail. Experience with the addition of love creates delectably delicious feasts from basic recipes.

Here is a brief synopsis of some of our most infamous recipes. Names may be changed to protect the innocent.

Not only did I start at an early age, but I had an intense desire to cook and to be good at it. Maybe it was the easiest way for me to accept a compliment, because I got to enjoy the outcome as well as those who thanked and praised my efforts — with one exception.

Remember, back in the day, when the commercial for Gravy Train dog food had a small chuck wagon racing through the kitchen and into a cabinet with a huge dog in hot pursuit? Just add hot water and stir.

It was fresh in my sister’s mind when I attempted beef gravy for the first time. Unsupervised, I made a roux and kept adding flour to it. Once I finally added liquid, it was not nearly enough, and the result was a big lumpy, chunky glob with the appearance of thick stew. For a good while, my gravy was referred to as Lou’s Gravy Train.

One fellow who wanted to impress his date invited her to his home for dinner. He asked if she liked stir fry. She did, and so he proceeded to cook it up for her, except for one itsy-bitsy problem — he couldn’t find any meat to put in it. So, perusing his freezer, he discovered fish sticks. Why not?

Well, you can imagine why not, and it remains a family joke.

This same gentleman helped his wife, despite the Fish Stick Stir Fry incident, to prepare dinner for us once. He tried to stretch the ambrosia and decided everyone loves chocolate, so a can of Hershey syrup was added.

Yep. It’s right up there among the reasons he is no longer allowed to cook.

While our children were still in single digits, I spent a month in the hospital. Hubby decided to make a pot of chili. He cooked up the meat, added onion and tomatoes, but couldn’t find any beans. So, he substituted pork ‘n beans!

But, wait, there’s more. He couldn’t find chili powder, either, so he used a whole bottle of Frank’s RedHot Hot Sauce. Needless to say, Dad’s chili is a conversation piece, and he is no longer allowed to cook.

Someone recently made me a mug of hot cocoa. How hard could it be to put a packet of the pre-mixed stuff in a mug and add hot water? Well, he couldn’t find the packets, so he added chocolate syrup to hot water — two ingredients, but certainly not hot cocoa.

My daughter and her teenage friend made tacos and almost fried the corn shells in vinegar. That was a near miss.

The first time she got to stay home alone for a couple of hours, as a surprise, she created an immense popcorn ball following the recipe — except for the step to cook the syrup. She put the gooey mass in the oven to help it hold together. I returned home to a huge mound of grainy brown popcorn topped with a maraschino cherry and a young girl in tears.

Epic fails abound in every family, but the one I still cannot get out of my mouth is my dear mother-in-law’s delicious-looking Chocolate Clove Cake. She loved it, but she was alone in that.

You won’t find the names or recipes of these cooks elsewhere. However, I’m pretty sure you could create a list of the biggest kitchen blunders in your neck of the woods.

These grandiose faux pas endure and bind our families as we laugh at ourselves. You cannot change history; however, never criticize the cook, because their own taste buds let them know they did a lousy job.

— A coal miner’s daughter born in Appalachia and schooled in Michigan, she currently lives in rural Athens. Hill describes herself as a cook and cookbook author, jack of all trades and master of none, a Christian wife, mother, grandmother and great-grandmother. She shares her home with her husband, Bob, and their spoiled-beyond-belief dog, Molly.