Meet The Team / Jessica Hulett

I grew up with a mother who couldn't cook. Burnt meatloaf, dry chicken and blackened hot dogs were all staples in her kitchen. One day, she was flipping through a magazine and found a recipe she thought she could handle: "homemade" macaroni and cheese made with Velveeta and stewed tomatoes. I was skeptical, but the dish ended up being the first thing ever to come out of Mom's kitchen that was a joy, rather than a chore, to eat.

The Velveeta melted evenly, giving every bite a rich, gooey flavor, and the canned tomatoes gave the dish a tang that balanced out the cheese perfectly. The spices from the stewed tomatoes gave the dish a surprising kick. The temperature of it always challenged my mouth -- I could never let it cool down -- but sinking my teeth into the gooey hot noodles while simultaneously puffing out steamy air was a test of fortitude I always aced. My will was lost, however, when it came to showing any level of restraint against overeating. Still, on that day of the week when Mom made macaroni and cheese, I fell asleep with a full belly and happy heart.

It's two o'clock in the morning. My boyfriend and I are heading home from a party. I'm wishing we were home already, because I'm tired. He leans over and says those magical, romantic words that make my pulse quicken and convince me that I can stay up for another hour, at least.

"Let's get mozzarella sticks."

So we find the nearest pizza joint, which is never a problem in New York City, and debate whether we should share an order or each get our own. We always opt for the latter. The first bite burns my mouth, causing me to breathe in short bursts of air to cool it down. I keep going, though, because the window between still gooey cheese and hard cheese is a small one and I don't want to miss it. I alternate between bites dipped in the sauce and bites where I can enjoy the always perfectly deep fried coating and the salty cheese on their own. It brings me back to my teen years -- high school lunches, late-night diner runs after the roller rink, and a killer metabolism.

It's hard not to love cupcakes. They're cute, for one, and they come in pretty colors. When done just right, they're moist, creamy and redolent of the sweet innocence of a kid's birthday party. The heady, feel-good aroma of vanilla (yes, I'm partial) and sugar that tickles your nose works better than any timer to let you know they're ready to come out of the oven. And best of all, they're small, which means you don't have to feel guilty about eating one. (Provided you can stop at one, that is.) The cupcakes of today are different than the ones of my youth, though. Cupcakes have gone gourmet -- flavors like red velvet and pumpkin are replacing the old chocolate and vanilla standbys -- and cupcake bakeries are springing up all over the country.