I've been feeling really a really strong push to write my personal history. I consider myself a really poor technical writer but in the end, I decided that it would be best to just do it and not worry about the possible disrespect of others. SO today I've decided to start with my Early Years.
My most vivid memory is of when my mother was pregnant with my brother Lowell. I remember pressing my ear up to my mothers warm, firm belly to listen and feel my little brother. I remember hearing gurgling and feeling his restlessness in the womb as with my cheek and my hand and I sat cradling my mom and brother.
I remember that from the earliest of my memory I loved two things most of all: the kitchen and music. I remember always being in the way in the kitchens of my mom, my grandmas and my aunts. I always wanted to help. I always had an opinion of what was yucky and what I thought each dish needed. Looking back, I know that I must have aggravated everyone with this but I'm grateful that they were kind to me. I was SUCH a picky eater! If something wasn't just right, I would not touch it. I was so deeply effected by the smells, the colors and the textures of food. I loved to watch the organoleptic properties of things transform before our eyes into something nourishing and beautiful.
As I learned to prepare food myself, I remember as I became more experienced, it seemed to me that the food itself had a way of communicating when it was ready. The smell of tomato when it was just right in a marinara or the right color of a piece of chicken. The first time I decide to make a tomato sauce from scratch was one of the most exhilarating experiences that I've ever had in the kitchen. I was ten years old and I had to rely on taste and smell alone to get it right because I had no books or recipes to guide me. I raided my mothers spice cupboard looking for what smelled like spaghetti sauce. It turned out pretty tasty and from that moment on, I was a full-on foodie.
Once, when my mom was sick with the flu, I wanted to make her happy. It was a Saturday and I had spent the morning watching a PBS show called The Victory Garden. One of the segments always involved a Chef preparing something delicious. That morning it was escargot in a garlic butter sauce. I was impressed and thought that such a glorious dish would please my mother. I went into the yard and found only 3 snails so I then found 4 slugs to make up the rest. The chef had used fresh garlic sauteed in butter and then the snails lightly tossed in the pan until golden and tender. My nine year old self ripped the poor snails from their shells (because I thought the shells would be too difficult to chew), heated up my moms skillet over high heat, decimated some margarine, threw the snail/ slug combo into the pan and covered them thoroughly with garlic powder. I finished the meal with salt which melted the slugs into slimy booger-like piles and slid the whole mess on a plate. I decide to get a few rose petals onto the plate to make it look pretty and presented it to my mom. She was so gracious and kind even though I made her vomit with my "meal". I love her for that. What a great mom.
Well, I went off on kind of a tangent so next time I will recommence with my early years and try to stay on topic.
My most vivid memory is of when my mother was pregnant with my brother Lowell. I remember pressing my ear up to my mothers warm, firm belly to listen and feel my little brother. I remember hearing gurgling and feeling his restlessness in the womb as with my cheek and my hand and I sat cradling my mom and brother.
I remember that from the earliest of my memory I loved two things most of all: the kitchen and music. I remember always being in the way in the kitchens of my mom, my grandmas and my aunts. I always wanted to help. I always had an opinion of what was yucky and what I thought each dish needed. Looking back, I know that I must have aggravated everyone with this but I'm grateful that they were kind to me. I was SUCH a picky eater! If something wasn't just right, I would not touch it. I was so deeply effected by the smells, the colors and the textures of food. I loved to watch the organoleptic properties of things transform before our eyes into something nourishing and beautiful.
As I learned to prepare food myself, I remember as I became more experienced, it seemed to me that the food itself had a way of communicating when it was ready. The smell of tomato when it was just right in a marinara or the right color of a piece of chicken. The first time I decide to make a tomato sauce from scratch was one of the most exhilarating experiences that I've ever had in the kitchen. I was ten years old and I had to rely on taste and smell alone to get it right because I had no books or recipes to guide me. I raided my mothers spice cupboard looking for what smelled like spaghetti sauce. It turned out pretty tasty and from that moment on, I was a full-on foodie.
Once, when my mom was sick with the flu, I wanted to make her happy. It was a Saturday and I had spent the morning watching a PBS show called The Victory Garden. One of the segments always involved a Chef preparing something delicious. That morning it was escargot in a garlic butter sauce. I was impressed and thought that such a glorious dish would please my mother. I went into the yard and found only 3 snails so I then found 4 slugs to make up the rest. The chef had used fresh garlic sauteed in butter and then the snails lightly tossed in the pan until golden and tender. My nine year old self ripped the poor snails from their shells (because I thought the shells would be too difficult to chew), heated up my moms skillet over high heat, decimated some margarine, threw the snail/ slug combo into the pan and covered them thoroughly with garlic powder. I finished the meal with salt which melted the slugs into slimy booger-like piles and slid the whole mess on a plate. I decide to get a few rose petals onto the plate to make it look pretty and presented it to my mom. She was so gracious and kind even though I made her vomit with my "meal". I love her for that. What a great mom.
Well, I went off on kind of a tangent so next time I will recommence with my early years and try to stay on topic.
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