Today, I am a cook.

For the first time in my long and unillustrious life, I have made edible gravy. Not the usual, lumpy and tasteless mess that looks (and tastes) more like wallpaper paste that I usually produce, but the real stuff.

My ex-children used to flee the room when I threatened to make gravy. They love to tell the tale of the time I tried it again, using a recipe printed on a roll of paper towels. Alas, another failure.

Most of the events in my empty life revolve around either the Red Sox or the Patriots. The gravy came from the Patriots.

Part of the Cobb Manor voodoo holds that the Patriots cannot continue their unlikely winning streak unless I host a game time meal, usually featuring chicken and Frank Renew’s patented “doesn’t suck” sauce. Don’t laugh. It has worked for eight straight playoff games, including two Super Bowls.

Last year, the Super Bowl menu was expanded, thanks to an intrusive newspaper editor who wanted a review of the football cookbook “Tailgates to Touchdowns.” In that volume was a recipe for a 5-pound brisket marinated in Bloody Mary sauce. How bad could that be?

It was such a hit (The Pats won again, naturally) that the freeloaders clamored for more. I never told them that the newspaper had subsidized the repast.

This past Sunday, we repeated the celebration with another 5-pound, $22 brisket. I had to pay this time.

But thanks to the game day blizzard, no one showed for the festivities and I was left with piles of leftovers. I stuffed myself with brisket until I was sick.

There were so many leftovers (a dozen potatoes baked along with the brisket) that I took the ultimate step toward maturity and fulfillment as a human being. I made gravy.

Since the marinade already had Bloody Mary mix, lemon-lime soda, actual lemon juice, Worcestershire sauce and a package of gravy mix, I figured I was off to a good start.

The breakthrough production was aided by the interview of Bangor uber-chef Cheryl Wixson, completed for last Thanksgiving on the proper preparation of Tom Turkey. She scoffed at my fear of gravy and explained her simple method. You combine like amounts (a cup) of flour and pan droppings in a hot frying pan for a few minutes. Gradually, you add the remaining meat drippings. Voila!

That’s gravy.

It was not only good, it was great. Like a good spaghetti sauce, it got better as the days went by and the brisket dwindled.

Now that I have conquered one of my oldest fears, what could be next?

Maybe crepes.

Coq au vin?

Scallops Provencal?

Macaroni and cheese?

Send complaints and compliments to Emmet Meara at emmetmeara@msn.com.