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Monday, November 8, 2010

How I Knew Food Ruled My World

When I hear talk of destiny, I wonder if mine was wrapped in prosciutto and dipped in Hollandaise sauce from the beginning. I have always, forever, and ever, loved food. My very first memory involves waking in the middle of the night to gobble fresh oranges, leaving the tell-tale peels across the floor. I graduated into cupboard raiding, stealing tiny palmfuls of whatever tasty treat I could reach. Once I realized that food was cooked, I wasted no time in creating "stews" made of fresh rose petals, grass and mud, stirred with my stick ladel. Our neighbors didn't like me very much, as it was usually their prized flowers I stole for my sidewalk soups.

Memories of wild blackberries, anise, fresh pomegranites, almonds, walnuts and crab apples grab hold of my senses and lavish me with whispers of taste. Broken montages of moments spent laughing over a great slice of pizza, an amazing candied walnut, goat cheese and arugula salad, my first unctuous bite of lemon-butter soaked lobster claw are not simply memories, they are what define me.

Some people are talented artists. They take a blank canvas, spatulas and brushes, oils and acrylics, and create something devastatingly beautiful out of nothing. Some musicians take sound and turn it into symphony, while some foodies take basic ingredients and turn them into a sensation of flavor. While I cannot claim to even stand close to the realms of the great creators, the Picasso's, the Dali's, the Bach's and the Mozart's, or even the Chiarello's or the Pepin's, I am not ashamed to say I am like them. I create.

Food rocks my world. It's my chance at artistic expression. It's my release from stress. It's my portal to pleasure. It's my opportunity to show love to others. I'm lucky to have found my thing. Have you?


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