It’s not hard to geek out about food in my family. My Dad’s family is Italian, and every holiday comes with a food, usually several labor intensive dishes. Word of advice if you ever visit with anyone related to me: if you’re offered food, eat it. And love it. Any other reaction will result in hurt feelings. Food equals love.
On the other hand, my Mom’s family has no food traditions whatsoever. Growing up, my Mom thought it was normal to have to scrape burnt food out of pots after every meal. The craziness of a large family and a kinda unusual upbringing resulted in my Mom quite literally having no idea how to boil water when she married my Dad. Food was generally viewed as mere fuel.
What does this mean for me? I got the worst of both sides. I love food. And I can’t cook.
But now I have a family of my own – a husband who also just started learning cooking skills, and a daughter who refuses to even try (granted, she’s a baby, but still!). So after about thirty years of living on what others made for me, it’s time to well…grow up, I guess.
Also of note: I’m a let’s-not-make-a-big-deal-about-it vegetarian. I’ll eat meat in mixed company, particularly if someone made it for me (recall the food equals love thing) and extra particularly if that someone is a relative. I don’t really cook it though.
…ok, I also eat Chick-fil-a sometimes. I think in Georgia that’s required by law.
Food posts can be found here.
