For the Love of the Food

I grew up with a mother who very well might be the world's worst cook. ever. Her only use for actual cooking was for the sake of survival. Cooking for her was never a joyous experience nor was it something she had any interest in at all with the exception of the aforementioned SURVIVAL. Oh, do I have stories to tell and the scars to prove them.

On the other side of life, there was my Grandmother K on my dad's side. What a joy it was to come into her home, with so many wonderful smells and the excitement of eating. And it was always very exciting. "Oh Dear, you must be hungry. I have chicken and noodles, (ALWAYS chicken and home made noodles) and pasta salad, and beef soup, oh, and I have some hamburgers, and a brocolli salad with grapes! and pie, you must have some pie." The refrigerator was always full of edible things that had color. Food! With COLOR! So even while I only visited Grandma K twice a year, it was the thought of a good meal that kept me going in the dark days Campbell's chicken noodle soup omelets and zuchinni ice cream.

Somewhere in the impossible battle NOT to become my mother, I bought a couple cook books. I remember one of my first "dinner" parties where I tried out a new recipe. It was chicken with cream cheese and green onions wrapped in refrigerated crescent roll dough then baked. UGH. What was I thinking? Eventually, when I lived on my own, I decided it really WAS worth the effort to make something good rather than to just eat something crappy for sustenance. I did not want to sustain - I wanted to thrive and be excited about my food. And so begins the story of my life as a wannabe bon vivant....