(no subject)

[rivka]

When I was about eleven, I went to San Francisco with kcobweb's family. We stayed with friends of theirs, I think, and one night we all went to a moderately fancy restaurant.

I've said before that my mother was a very good plain cook. She made things like baked chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy, but she made them well enough that, in later years, I didn't understand why it was a cliche for baked chicken to be dry and for gravy to be lumpy. Everything she made was good, but none of it ever touched, on the plate. As a picky eater, I found that this diet of plain, separated foods worked quite well for me.

So in this fancy restaurant, at age eleven, I announced that I was going to get the chicken. It came with a lemon sauce. Any sauce was suspicious to me, so I said that I wanted to have the sauce on the side. And one of kcobweb's family's friends said to me, "When the chef planned that meal, he had the sauce in mind. You should really have it the way he intended it to taste."

It was the first suggestion I ever had that there might be more to food than pleasurable sustenance - my first contact with the idea that there might be something intentional about food. I ordered my meal the way the chef intended, and liked it, and a week or so later I went home to my mother's non-touching meals. But, obviously, I have remembered that exchange. I wonder if it germinated slowly in my mind until I went away to college five years later, and began to develop my first foodie tendencies.

Where are the distant roots of your present self?

Comments

[ratphooey.livejournal.com]

I was a new junior high student, about age 11, and my mother had come to school for some reason (a school play, maybe?). I don't remember what specifically I said or did (maybe I asked her to go and get me something I'd left in the car) but I remember my homeroom teacher being barely able to conceal her shock at how presumptuous I was, at how casually I expected my mother to do something for me I could easily have done myself.

I'd love to say I never again took my mother for granted, but at least I can say that I did it a lot less.

[geminigirl]

If we're talking in a food-sense, it's third grade, strep throat.

When I was in third grade, I had strep throat, a whole lot. And after I'd started feeling better, but wasn't quite better enough to go back to school, my mother taught me to bake chocolate chip cookies. That experience sparked both an interest in cooking, and an interest in research...later that school year, in order to complete the ten research reports my teacher required, with my mother's help, I researched the history of the chocolate chip cookie, baked seven different varieties, based on recipes I found in different cookbooks, and then fed them to my classmates, and surveyed them to find out which ones they liked best.

I still love baking today. Especially cookies.

[kazoogrrl.livejournal.com]

Food-wise:

I think this comes from my parents never putting up with, "But I don't like that" when confronted with new foods. I didn't have to like them, or eat everything on my plate, but I had better at least try them before passing judgement. To this day, I'm usually game to give a new and interesting edible item a try. Also, I think sitting on the front porch (my granmother sent us outside) eating Limburger cheese and saltines with my grandfather was a time of development for my young palate.

[browse.livejournal.com]

Since we seem to be on a food theme...

I can remember being a little kid (6? 7?) and sitting on the stool in the corner of the kitchen, listening to some combination of my mom, aunt and grandmother talking. Mainly, I was just there to eavesdrop on the adult conversation. But because I was there, they started finding stuff that I could safely do to help. "Here, beat these eggs". "Stir this batter and I'll let you lick the spoon." I'm convinced that led to me being so engaged in cooking today.

It was one of the things I made sure to talk about in my mom's eulogy.

[kcobweb.livejournal.com]

Wow. I don't even remember that trip. We would have stayed with my aunt and uncle, and the person who encouraged you to try the sauce was almost certainly my aunt Carol, who is a veteran foodie (and probably my favorite relative in my extended family).

I was a *very* picky eater, but when we were growing up, my parents had a rule that you had to take some of everything and you had to clean your plate. I agonized and whined and moaned about this as a kid - but as an adult, I'll try any food I see. I like having that sense of adventurousness with food, and want to instill it in the EB. Even if it means being as strict as my parents were? We'll see....

I remember my mother teaching me to bake cookies (at about 11 or 12ish); soon I took over all the cookie baking for the family. It was years before I ventured out into cooking on my own, though.

[tassie-gal.livejournal.com]

I remeber it clearly. I was 10 - it was World Expo 88 in Brisbane and we had season tickets. The rules were simple, every week my parents and I would go to a resturant at the Expo (generally the national resturant of a pavillion but sometimes a countries resturant that was seperate). I could have anything I liked BUT I had to try the national dish of whatever country we were dining at. So at the Russian pavillion I tried Borsht, in a german beer hall - sausages, in the Korean resturant - seaweed pancakes. I am pretty sure this is where my obession with sushi began. I never was a really fussy eater, but I didnt eat alot. Things changed after Expo... I still didnt (and still dont) have a huge appietite but will try anything once, and dont turn my nose up at anything. Hence why Mealie Pap is a favourite comfort food, and Boerwors will always remind me of South Africa.

BTW hope you dint mind but I added you to my f'list, found you through a friend/friends list.

[pnh.livejournal.com]

My parents did a very clever thing. As far back as I can remember, they would regularly, while dinner was cooking, break out some small delicacy, like blue cheese and crackers, or olives, or toasted almonds, or sardines, and consume a bit of it as an appetizer, making a reasonably big deal about how tasty it was. Inevitably, my brother and I would get curious about the strange food and savory smells, and wind up sharing some or it.

As a result, somehow they wound up with three sons all of whom, in their grown incarnation, have a lively and curious attitude about all food and drink, and who will try just about anything. It's one of the things my parents did indisputably right.

[tsjafo.livejournal.com]

"Where are the distant roots of your present self?"

Now thats a question worth serious thought. But food-wise the first thing that comes to mind are all the different and wonderful foods we sampled growing up at various duty stations in the U.S. and overseas. It has given me courage to try some outrageous (at least to the American palate) foods and an appreciation for different textures, flavors and presentations. For instance, I love the way Korean food is presented in many small dishes to be shared among the diners, each with it's own color, texture and flavor, distinct and exciting.

[dafna]

I'll stay w/ the food theme, too. (Cool question, btw.)

I grew up on stir-fry, the result of my parents being both broke and fond of Asian food from their time abroad when my dad was in the army. Plus, it was quick to make.

The summer before my senior year, I took a job at a very fancy French restaurant near my high school, the kind where the waiters judge the customers by what kind of wine they order. The best part was that I got a free meal every night of the most amazing food ever. The sous chef who cooked the staff meals later went on to fame and fortune and is actually going to be on Iron Chef this month. Even if I left too early for the post-closing meal, if it wasn't too busy, Tamara would go, "oh, let me just whip you up some tricolor pasta with this chicken we've got."

It wasn't just that the food was good, though, it was the whole attitude toward food as something to be savored, with the idea that how it was presented mattered as well as how it was cooked. It basically changed how I looked at food forever.

[ailbhe]

When we were sick, we got food served on special crockery - Bunnykins when we were younger, Wedgewood when we were too grown-up for Bunnykins. We got satsumas arranged like flowers, toast in tiny triangles, everything presented beautifully.

Perfectly ordinary food can be transformed with presentation. It's very peculiar, but useful to tempt a sickly appetite. I have an abiding tendency to collect milkjugs.

[richtermom.livejournal.com]

When I was very little, my mom was a SAHM. And she was teaching her self how to cook. (I'm not sure why she didn't learn from HER mom, who cooked every night and while it was never gourmet, it was always very tasty, right on time and hot.) She apparently miscounted something in meatloaf once and it came out soupy, but by the time I was a big girl and able to remember, she was generally doing fine. But then Dad left, and she returned to work, and between cutting coupons and being really tired, she rarely cooked much. But I do remember her criticising Grandma's chateaubriand or whatever. "It's not supposed to taste like that!" she insisted. I was like, WHATEVER. It tastes like FOOD. So to this day, even though I work full time, I cook SOMETHING almost every night, and even if it doesn't turn out, I won't get upset, as long as it's edible. Heck. Sometimes it tastes better.

Last night: Frozen pizza and night-before-payday chicken and dumplings (boullion from cubes, one carrot, one wilted celery stalk, egg/flour/breadcrumb dumplings.)

[lcohen]

you know the interesting thing about this memory is how it is interrupted in my life.

when i was in third grade, for some school project or other, i had to do something that led to my cooking something called mulligan stew, from the betty crocker cookbook for kids, for my family. it turned out well and i used to cook that and cooked other dishes from that cookbook for them on occasion--potatoes anna, springs to mind. never baking--i have never been a baker, but entrees for meals, yes, no problem, since i was eight.

and then i met michele who decided i was a terrible cook and i didn't cook for fourteen years....

i just had the incident where the stove caught fire and i couldn't cook while that was being dealt with--and i *craved* cooking for myself--i wanted to and couldn't. so i must be getting back to liking it ;-) .

[rivka.livejournal.com]

I must have been twelve, not eleven. It was when I came out to visit the year after you moved to Billings - wasn't it partly your Bat Mitzvah present?

Someone in your family was getting married. That's why we went to SF. Your cousins from Louisville came too.

[hobbitbabe.livejournal.com]

Here are a couple which are not about food.

When I was about three (maybe less - it is a very early memory) I was watching my mother in the kitchen. She turned off the burner and went to the sink to drain the pot. She said "Now don't touch that; it is still hot." Since I'd seen her turn it off and it was not glowing, I thought she was exaggerating and being overprotective. I decided to prove her wrong by putting my hand on the element. She was right. It hurt. I expected her to also punish me, so I ran to my bedroom and hid in the closet. She did not punish me. She ran after me and kneeled down and unfolded my hand and said "That must really hurt". I was fascinated to see that my burn mark had the same shape as the element.

This story illustrates my need to see for myself, my interest in empirical observation, and probably something about conflict-avoidance. My mother hates this story because to her it says that she is a bad parent - not sure if it's because she was neglectful in allowing me to burn myself, or because I was scared she would be mad.

---

When I was about 9, my softball team was invited (with all the softball teams) to march in the town parade in our uniforms. At first I was tickled about that exciting opportunity -- until I realized that means I would be giving up the usual pleasure of watching the parade with my family. How could I choose? Either way, I'd be missing something. My parents and my coach listened to me and didn't try to solve my problem (probably it didn't seem quite as big to them). I decided that I could march in the first part of the parade, and then drop out when I got to my parents, and then watch the rest of it with them.

This story symbolizes my difficulties embracing change and giving up anything.