Sabrina has discovered that someone actually wrote what amounts to John Dewey fan fiction! Unbelievable.
A little sample:
"I can't be less than honest with you. You're a god-awful cooking teacher."
"Learn from experience, you wrote!" She defended herself with his own ideas, though she understood them better than she practiced: indifference isn't experience; chaos isn't experiment.
Absently, lost in reflection, he took up one egg, then two, cracking them against the pan as if to test for himself the possibilities in this encounter with eggs.
Their insides slipped out and lay in the pan like the breasts of a woman reclining, the soft padded circles fallen back against her body. They looked at him. They hissed in their butter. (p. 33)
And this is for her research!! (Sort of.)