So Meg gave her the easy chair and tried to entertain her, while she asked questions, criticized everything, and told stories of the people whom she knew.
Language cannot describe the anxieties, experiences, and exertions which Jo underwent that morning, and the dinner she served up became a standing joke.

Fearing to ask any more advice, she did her best alone, and discovered that something more than energy and good will is necessary to make a cook.

She boiled the asparagus for an hour and was grieved to find the heads cooked off and the stalks harder than ever.
The bread burned black; for the salad dressing so aggravated her that she could not make it fit to eat.

The lobster was a scarlet mystery to her, but she hammered and poked till it was unshelled and its meager proportions concealed in a grove of lettuce leaves.

The potatoes had to be hurried, not to keep the asparagus waiting, and were not done at the last.