Where it all begins...

Our fondest memories, our earliest memories. Where do they come from? Many of my memories are so interwoven with food that something as simple as the smell of slightly burnt toast on a cloudy day instantly takes me back to the years I lived in Chile as a girl. Think of it this way: whenever there is a gathering of friends and family, where do people congregate? The kitchen. People forgo the comfortable expanse of couch and armchair to gather in the kitchen, the heart of the home, to watch the alchemy of raw ingredients become something more than their basest selves.

My mom is the one who first introduced me to the kitchen. When I was very young, I would be responsible for stirring the ingredients in a bowl, then it was a responsibility for the preparation of a certain dish.  But that's where it came from, a sense of responsibility for the ritual and experience of eating. We've been travelers as long as I can remember and we have often repayed a friend's hospitality with a meal, a labor of love.

I believe food should not be a proprietary thing. To eat a dish prepared by another person's hands is to know them better. Food is meant to be shared and to be transmitted. What makes a dish one's own comes in the process and the individual's own touch.That's why my frijoles will never be the same as my Natya's. But the more that I make them, the more I will create something that becomes my own.

I've been asked many times for recipes that I make and that's where this blog comes in; a place for me to talk about food that I've eaten, recipes that I've made, the people I share them with.

A big part of life is food and the pleasure it brings, but there is more I love about life than just food so every now and then I might feel compelled to share those experiences here too. I can't promise to post frequently or even regularly, but I do always promise to post with enthusiasm.

So as Lidia Bastianich (one of my food heroes) says: Tutti a tavola a mangiare.
In the words of "Saint" Julia: Bon appétit.
In the words of my mom (and biggest food hero): Buen provecho.

 

Indeed.