I don’t remember a lot about my childhood, but what I do seems to be inextricably linked to food.
In a way, I suppose I was destined to become a foodie, though at the time I wouldn’t have thought so…
When I was around 4 or 5, I was standing on a chair at the stove, watching my older sister preparing something delicious for me to eat. Completely oblivious, I put my hand down on the glaring red element to reach for a cookie jar in the cupboard above the stove. Lesson number one; always pay attention in the kitchen.
I recall how my parents used to refer to me as “chipmunk cheeks” because this foodie never liked to eat. I’d sit at the dinner table for hours, stuffing my face until my cheeks ballooned. My parents would often attempt to wait me out and sit there trying to coerce me into eating my supper, but eventually they would give up, leaving me alone at the table to finish, at which point I would spit all of the food into my napkin and flush it down the toilet. Lesson number two; not everything that is put in front of you is worth eating.
Being sick always meant I got my two favourite foods; buttered bagels and chocolate ice cream, and a chance to watch Mary Poppins on the living room couch. I’d like to think I was ahead of the curve on that whole dipping fries into chocolate shakes trend, as I used to dip my bagels into the melty ice cream. Lesson number three; sweet and savoury do mix.
I never got to see my mom. She worked as a chef, which meant she slept before I left for school, and was gone by the time I made it home. On rare occasions I was allowed to visit her at the restaurant, which has always stuck with me. I’d sit at a banquette near the back, happily slurping down the best food the 80′s had to offer a 5 year old pipsqueak like me; tri-coloured rotini with spicy sweet honey garlic Italian sausage. Yum! Lesson number four; pasta will please any child.
