It started as an impulse buy. Because, I mean, really...who PLANS to buy phyllo dough? (Okay, all you people who plan before you grocery shop - shush. I can't be reigned in! I'm free like a bird! I shop like an Iron Chef! I let the spirit of the ingredients move me! Also, I can't plan ahead. Ahem.) I stood with my nose inches from the glass freezer case door, fog blooming with each exhale. Ooh! On sale! I tossed two boxes in the cart. I mean, you should have a back up box in the freezer for a day when you might want some phyllo. Or something.

Admittedly, I'm not exactly a phyllo expert. In fact, I only know a few things to do with phyllo dough: spanikopita and baklava, both of which require a metric butt-load (thanks for that, Jenn) of melted butter. Melted butter? In copious amounts? Sign me up!

I threw a couple of packages of frozen spinach into the cart, and some feta and some water chestnuts and some herbs and hell, I don't know. A bunch of stuff. This is a return to my former confident method of cooking., whereupon I grab a bunch of stuff and make something yummy. The kids haven't proven to be impressed with my skillet full of yum method, but surely wrapping everything in phyllo and slathering it in butter would make even spinach palatable for my wee food critics.

I made a bunch of spinach handpies. They were not well received. I've eaten them all myself, while making Mmmm! Mmmmmmmm! noises. Then I took the rest of the dough from that first package and slathered it with butter, cinnamon and honey and rolled it and baked it up. And then I hid in the closet and ate the whole pan.

I found myself singing "Phyllo when I was young, I used to call your name..."

I have decided that when I die, I want to be rolled in phyllo, and slathered in honey and butter. Maybe sprinkle a little cinnamon on for good measure, because that's pretty close to heaven, in my book.

I'm already thinking about the next box. Perhaps some savory samosa filling. Maybe a cheese mixture. I must be stopped.