In case you don't know me that well, I like to eat. Not just eating for eating's sake, meaning to satisfy my metabolic needs, but I enjoy every aspect of eating: the build up (what am I going to eat, where am I going to eat, and with whom am I going to eat), the meal itself (the presentation, the flavors, the surroundings, the conversation, the "close my eyes and savor each bite" part, the perfectly paired wine), and the after glow (the "you're going to have to throw me in a wheel barrow and cart me out of here" feeling, the "I wish there was a bed next to my table" feeling).
This passion actually has an interesting history. When I was born, I had many, many allergies to many, many different types of foods. I was basically on an all white food diet. Most foods made me incredibly sick--poor mom. I only remember eating rice, though there must have been other foods as well. I do recall that when someone would offer me a saltine cracker, I thought it was a cookie. Really, I thought I was getting a real treat when I got to nibble on those saltines. To this day, I think fondly on those simple treats. This limited lifestyle ended when I was four. Not because my allergies suddenly went away, but because my longing to experience the array of foods that other people were consuming could no longer be repressed. I recall sitting at the kitchen table one evening with my usual bowl of plain rice and looking at the other people's plates that had large hot dogs in buns with the full panel of condiments on top. As my mouth salivated and my eyes bulged, I made a life changing decision. I reached out and plucked a hot dog off of my mom's plate and stuffed it into my mouth--barely chewing as I gulped it down whole. Oh man was it good. That hot dog was the best thing that I had ever experienced. I had made my decision: from that day forth, I would eat whatever I could and damn the consequences. I'd learn how to deal with it.
Of course, after so many years of eating the plainest foods around, I went to the other extreme and ate too, too much. I soon acquired the reputation of being a "big eater" and found that I had to fulfill that image for many years after, eating more than I cared to, just so people would have this opinion of me. It really became a part of my identity and distinguished me from, for example, my sister who has always been a picky eater. My grandmother used to tell everyone the story of how one Thanksgiving when I was eight years old, I asked if I could have the leg of the turkey. My mom of course loaded the huge leg onto my plate without a pause. My granddad turned to gram and stated disapprovingly, "Oh, what a waste, giving the little girl all that food." My gram just smiled knowingly, "Oh, just you wait and see." Sure enough, I sucked down everything on that plate and then was nosing around for seconds.
Soon, relatives and friends forgot that I had ever had problems eating foods and figured I had just grown out of my allergies. I would never complain: I was silently defensive all those years, wanting it to seem that I was normal and feared being pitied like that child who thought saltines were cookies...
Fortunately when I went away to college, I realized that this "big eater" identity was stupid and unnecessary and was just making it harder for my already dysfunctional digestive system. Now I just eat like a regular person, except with a deeper appreciation, I think, for food and its seductive powers.
So, now that you have a better understanding of my roots, you can see why I'm always in search of a good meal. And by good I mean a perfect blending of tastes and experiences; a symphony; a fuzzy haze; a bit of heaven. Since college, I have traveled to many places in search for good meals. Most notably, I lived in France with a family for a year and a half. Not only was I able to enjoy meals at some of the best restaurants in the world, I was also fortunate to be taught how to cook and bake from my french mom. My next food themed post will show you a bit about what I experienced and learned there...I'm salivating just thinking back to those meals...
Just as a little extra note before I sign off here, Philly is a perfect place to reside if you have a passion for food. Okay, we do have a reputation for cheese steaks and tastykakes and Obesidelphia...this is all true. However, there is also a large BYOB culture, which is one of the greatest features of Philly (there are over 200 here). I plan to do a whole posting on my favorite BYO's of Philly... I was up in Boston over the holidays and a friend of mine had never heard of BYOB. For those of you sad creatures who have yet to experience this phenomenon, let me explain. BYOB = bring your own bottle. This means that the restaurant doesn't provide alcohol, you have to bring your own. Why is this great? All restaurants live and die by their food. But that fact is truer when the restaurant doesn’t mark up alcohol. The difficulty in producing great food while running a small business is intensified without the safety net of bar proceeds. Consequently successful proprietors of BYOBs have a heightened focus on the quality of their cuisine. BYOBs are also usually small joints, giving you and your dinner partner a very intimate feeling while sharing the meal. Anyways, it's going to take some time to put together a post on this, as I want to go out and take pictures of my favorite places too...
This passion actually has an interesting history. When I was born, I had many, many allergies to many, many different types of foods. I was basically on an all white food diet. Most foods made me incredibly sick--poor mom. I only remember eating rice, though there must have been other foods as well. I do recall that when someone would offer me a saltine cracker, I thought it was a cookie. Really, I thought I was getting a real treat when I got to nibble on those saltines. To this day, I think fondly on those simple treats. This limited lifestyle ended when I was four. Not because my allergies suddenly went away, but because my longing to experience the array of foods that other people were consuming could no longer be repressed. I recall sitting at the kitchen table one evening with my usual bowl of plain rice and looking at the other people's plates that had large hot dogs in buns with the full panel of condiments on top. As my mouth salivated and my eyes bulged, I made a life changing decision. I reached out and plucked a hot dog off of my mom's plate and stuffed it into my mouth--barely chewing as I gulped it down whole. Oh man was it good. That hot dog was the best thing that I had ever experienced. I had made my decision: from that day forth, I would eat whatever I could and damn the consequences. I'd learn how to deal with it.
Of course, after so many years of eating the plainest foods around, I went to the other extreme and ate too, too much. I soon acquired the reputation of being a "big eater" and found that I had to fulfill that image for many years after, eating more than I cared to, just so people would have this opinion of me. It really became a part of my identity and distinguished me from, for example, my sister who has always been a picky eater. My grandmother used to tell everyone the story of how one Thanksgiving when I was eight years old, I asked if I could have the leg of the turkey. My mom of course loaded the huge leg onto my plate without a pause. My granddad turned to gram and stated disapprovingly, "Oh, what a waste, giving the little girl all that food." My gram just smiled knowingly, "Oh, just you wait and see." Sure enough, I sucked down everything on that plate and then was nosing around for seconds.
Soon, relatives and friends forgot that I had ever had problems eating foods and figured I had just grown out of my allergies. I would never complain: I was silently defensive all those years, wanting it to seem that I was normal and feared being pitied like that child who thought saltines were cookies...
Fortunately when I went away to college, I realized that this "big eater" identity was stupid and unnecessary and was just making it harder for my already dysfunctional digestive system. Now I just eat like a regular person, except with a deeper appreciation, I think, for food and its seductive powers.
So, now that you have a better understanding of my roots, you can see why I'm always in search of a good meal. And by good I mean a perfect blending of tastes and experiences; a symphony; a fuzzy haze; a bit of heaven. Since college, I have traveled to many places in search for good meals. Most notably, I lived in France with a family for a year and a half. Not only was I able to enjoy meals at some of the best restaurants in the world, I was also fortunate to be taught how to cook and bake from my french mom. My next food themed post will show you a bit about what I experienced and learned there...I'm salivating just thinking back to those meals...
Just as a little extra note before I sign off here, Philly is a perfect place to reside if you have a passion for food. Okay, we do have a reputation for cheese steaks and tastykakes and Obesidelphia...this is all true. However, there is also a large BYOB culture, which is one of the greatest features of Philly (there are over 200 here). I plan to do a whole posting on my favorite BYO's of Philly... I was up in Boston over the holidays and a friend of mine had never heard of BYOB. For those of you sad creatures who have yet to experience this phenomenon, let me explain. BYOB = bring your own bottle. This means that the restaurant doesn't provide alcohol, you have to bring your own. Why is this great? All restaurants live and die by their food. But that fact is truer when the restaurant doesn’t mark up alcohol. The difficulty in producing great food while running a small business is intensified without the safety net of bar proceeds. Consequently successful proprietors of BYOBs have a heightened focus on the quality of their cuisine. BYOBs are also usually small joints, giving you and your dinner partner a very intimate feeling while sharing the meal. Anyways, it's going to take some time to put together a post on this, as I want to go out and take pictures of my favorite places too...
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment