An Open Letter to Martha Stewart

Dear Martha:

Oh, Martha. Every few years I can’t stand it anymore. I feel the need to make one of your recipes or complete one of your projects or try to look as fulfilled as you do in the kitchen.

Like this:

But here’s the thing, Martha. Every time I try — every time — it backfires on me. Because see, Martha, you take me in and then spit me back out, leaving me rolling in agony on the floor as I moan “Why Martha, why?” I won’t even get into the time I tried to dye eggs the way you do. Let’s just say that I had to move after that fiasco.

Luckily, I now have a husband who takes over when the going gets bad. My latest attempt at Martha-izing was that delicious-looking beet, fennel and carrot salad you made on the Today Show. It looked so pretty when you made it. So fresh. So delicious. So easy.

In fact, the piece you appeared on in which you made the salad was billed as “Martha Stewart’s Stress-Free Christmas Dinner.”

So I bought the fennel. I had the carrots. But I should have realized when I couldn’t find any fresh beets at Wegman’s that I should give up. I should quit.

But Martha, I know you don’t like a quitter. I know there’s no “I” in team. And you and I, Martha, we were a team on this one. I trusted you.

So I sent Mark out to another grocery store to get beets. He brought them home.

And that’s when the trouble started. It was Dec. 24. I had promised Mark a stress-free day of preparing most of our Christmas dinner early. Like the salad that you showed me how to make. The awesome thing about my husband is that he actually believed me. So we put the kids down for naps, poured some wine, got out our mandolin, washed the veggies, and got going.

And then. Well, let’s just say I don’t use the mandolin much. Plus I couldn’t find the thing that goes on top of it that keeps you from chopping off your fingers. Don’t worry, Martha. I still have all my fingers.

Anyway, it took us two hours — TWO HOURS — to get everything shredded through the mandolin. Six beets, five carrots and one fennel bulb. Luckily Mark took over and figured out how to use that damn thing. And we found the thing you put on top of the veggies so that we kept our fingers. But by then, one of our grill mitts we’d used to protect our hands — my favorite grill mitt — was shredded. And the kitchen was a complete disaster with beet juice dripping like blood onto the floor.

Here’s a picture I took in the midst of the salad preparation madness:

Anyway, Martha. We got the salad made. It was pretty. But to be honest, I didn’t really like it too much. Everyone else professed to LOVE it, but I think they might have been blowing smoke up my you-know-what because Mark had warned them that I might be a wee bit sensitive about it. Let’s just say there was a lot left over.


I have to admit for this weird love for you, Martha. You are so focused. So organized. So crafty. Who else could have figured out how to make millions by showing people how to dye eggs and make Christmas ornaments? Just you, Martha.

Anywhoo, I learned my lesson. I won’t attempt any more Martha projects or recipes for a few years.

But I’m sure I’ll be back, Martha. Just next time, be kinder to me.

Yours in the love of all things Mod-Podged,





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2 Responses to An Open Letter to Martha Stewart

  1. anita murphy says:

    love love love things always turn out like that for me too, just ask uncle marty about
    the apricot & sugar cookie experience this year . tell mark even after 29 years of
    marriage the murphy boys still have to save the day..we’re lucky to have them..
    love to you all aunt anita

  2. Pingback: Our Future Martha |

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