Every year when the Super Bowl rolls around, I get coerced into cooking enough food to feed the Army. And every year, I dread the task. Until my kitchen is suddenly abuzz with the sound of knives chopping and food processors whirring and my favorite Pandora station blaring in the background. Once I am elbow deep in raw eggs, breading, and flour, the aroma of simmering oil permeating my entire home, I can finally embrace the task at hand and I remember how much I really do enjoy the process of cooking. Yesterday, I cooked alone while the children played in the living room and my husband spent time catching…