So after sharing this little endeavor with a table full of relative strangers Saturday night, it was pointed out to me that my first post may have been lacking in human interest. Afterall, who needs to post that they're going to post?? It seems that regaling people with the more nostalgic moments from my childhood would probably be a better start and perhaps answer the question, "Why am I doing this?" I guess the answer is simple but best explained with my earliest memory.
I have to admit, my family is a special brand of psycho(sorry everyone but you know it's true!) we put the "fun" in disfunctional. But the one thing we do well, and I mean VERY well, is cook. The kitchen is the one place where we can all get along. I don't know if I was conditioned, or if I am descended from a line of minor cooking dieties and thus inherited the elusive cooking gene. Either way, food led to my very first memory. I must have been 2 or 3 and still much to small to be of any use in kitchen. It was Christmas and all the women of my mom's family were crowded into our kitchen working away at the various parts of our traditional Christmas dinner. I must have been hanging on everyone's sleeves or just a general nuisance, I did and occasionally still do excell at that, because the next thing I know I'm one of the cooks! I don't remember much, but I vividly recall standing on a chair, wearing an oversized apron, and stirring. I'm not sure what it was or whethere it was even part of dinner, but I that day I was just like the big girls!
The next story is a favorite of my mom's and comes as no surprise if your earliest memory is helping in the kitchen. Mom used to work late on Tuesdays, she was a City Attorney and had to go to council meetings, so those nights were generally Dad's night to make dinner. Remember how I specifically said my MOM'S family was in the kitchen in the previous paragraph? Well, that's because my dad's family, well....they didn't get the cooking gene. My Dad's repetoire consisted of chilli dogs, hamburgers, and vienna sausages. Occasionally all at once! Apparently even at a young age I had excellent taste and had no interest in any of my father's culinary delights. So one night in third grade, my mother came home and found me sitting at the kitchen table. I was reading a rather large book, and as I got to the bottom of each page, I would lick my index finger, flip the page with a flourish, and start at the top of the next page. When my mother inquired what I was doing, I responded with the confidence and nonchalance that only a third grader could manage "Oh, I'm just looking for something to cook for dinner." My mother swears it was that moment she knew I would snag a husband. Well, I'm not saying she's wrong, but apparently no one told the men, because so far there has been very little snagging! Perhaps someone DID tell them about my abysmal cleaning abilities!
And now you know. Cooking and I go way back. With any luck, we'll continue our little love affair for many years to come.
