Twelve-year old girls usually come in twos and I was no exception. Attached to my prepubescent hip was my all-time buddy and life long pal, Kim. Together we witnessed the first coveted signs of growing up: The Beloved Pimple (she got hers first), The First Dark Hair ANYWHERE (she got hers first) and of course, The Fateful Symbol of Utter Womanhood: any sign of a Boob (she got hers first (okay, so I was a rather late bloomer)). Even the illusion of the first signs of affection from a crooned-over unattainable boy like super cute Mark Decasola (to whom I readily handed over my much-coveted Venezuelan candy bar at lunch just for a flash of those amazing pearly whites) was done hand in hand. She always told me I was too good for him.Even though Kim moved away at the start of high school and we lost touch soon thereafter, too many secrets and pacts where exchanged for me to ever forget her. But aside from mixing blood (Best Friends Forever Pact) and mixing each other’s hairs (Best Friends Forever Backup Pact), we also mixed taste buds in the kitchen as we were both adamant and fervent lovers of cooking.Mornings in Kim’s house began early when we’d wake up to the sound of her large labrador barking, brush off her annoying little brother, and head downstairs to the gleaming and abandoned kitchen, where we had free range to explore and invent as our taste buds and imaginations desired. Many combinations deserve to die within the secrecy of our friendship, but one dish that was born amongst our frenzy for culinary perfection was so good, so perfect, so us, that it remains one of my favorites today. The Crazy Plopper, as it was named that fateful day in 1984 was a marriage of mess and deliciousness. Nestled amongst a crusty baguette, Kim and I created the ultimate egg sandwich that serves as the perfect crossover from breakfast to lunch to dinner. Whichever hour of the day we chose to devour this delight, we’d always wash it down with a cold Coke and a climb up to our secret hideout, the roof of the storage room, where we’d sit and listen to the wild parrots squawk and drool over our pact of delicious food.