I was raised on the excellent cooking of my mother (a self-taught cook), grandmothers, aunts, and a few talented uncles (and Dad made a pretty mean french toast, not gonna lie). Cheesy bread, pot roasts, pecan pie, berry blintzes, breakfast casserole, hand-crafted buttery syrup... there's even an heirloom method for spreading the whipped topping on the jello. Borens, I hope you're smiling!
With so much culinary talent in my mother, and pair that with penny pinching, we didn't eat out much (if ever) when I was little. I have some faint memories of the China Light restaurant and McDonald's drive-thru on road trips. Mom treated me to Chili's for my sweet 16, and Dad took me on a special daddy-daughter date to Winger's once. But other than that--even on vacations--Mom found a way to prepare our food.
Well, I grew up and moved off to college. I remember my roommates inviting me to go to Denny's with them at 10pm on a weeknight. I was on a rigid budget but I had six dollars to spare and while I almost always was in bed by 10pm I made an exception because I had never paid for myself at a sit-down restaurant with menus and a waiter and everything and I was intrigued and excited... I went. I ordered pancake puppies, which cost me four dollars and left me enough to tip. Pretty sure it was in the top five cheapest things on the menu category, but I didn't care. Eating out was a hoot. Chatting with friends while people brought you food you'd never tried before, never even heard of before--my goodness, it was awesome.
I still kept to my tight budget, but when opportunity landed itself I wanted to give everything my taste buds could handle a shot. My increasingly diversifying pool of college friends invited me to the tastes of their homelands. My year-and-a-half as a missionary in Gig Harbor, WA and later Argentina thrust me into a world of seafood delights and Germanic-Italian-SouthAmerican cuisine. P-town restaurants caught my eye with their bright neon signs and colorful start-up posters, and I entered, and ate.... J-Dawgs specialty hot dogs smothered in the secret sauce. Hruska's Kolaches with their delectable dough. Pupusas with platanos con crema on the side. Milanesas Napolitanas, the red sauce cascading down the edge of the chicken. I launched into my life as a full-blown foodie.
Kevin says he never took girls out to eat til he met me, but something about our relationship changed him, and together we've tried dozens of places. I'll never forget our date to Harmons, where we learned about Buddha fingers (a lemon-like citrus fruit) and tried our first dragonfruit. The locally crafted products glittered, they called to me--and here we go again, Butterscotch Root-beer, Blueberry Chia Seed Oatmeal, Noosa Aussie yogurt... need I go on?
When we both worked, our budget was far more flexible, and more dollars than I care to admit made their way into our grocery and eating-out funds (and more calories than I care to admit made their residence on my waistline). But as way leads on to way our journey has changed, and we're adjusting our ways to pinch pennies and enjoy life more conservatively and healthfully.
Which leads me back to pot roasts, cheesy bread, spaghetti, pancakes, blender-created smoothies, tossed salads, and yes, to the heirloom method for spreading whipped cream on the jello. However, my respect and love for the homemade genre of food has a heightened meaning now that I'm the woman behind the whisk. I think of my mom and my grandmas, with their babies on their hips and their kids laughter (or fighting) wafting through the open kitchen window as the oven blazes the kitchen into unbearable heat, as they stir the taco soup for dinner. I think of them asking their kidlets to set the table and kissing their hubbies as they arrive home from work. I think of the conversations had around the table while everyone reports their day, tease one another relentlessly, and ask to be excused. While there is no shame in my foodie ventures, there's a special place in the foods homemade, and I'm grateful.
With so much culinary talent in my mother, and pair that with penny pinching, we didn't eat out much (if ever) when I was little. I have some faint memories of the China Light restaurant and McDonald's drive-thru on road trips. Mom treated me to Chili's for my sweet 16, and Dad took me on a special daddy-daughter date to Winger's once. But other than that--even on vacations--Mom found a way to prepare our food.
Well, I grew up and moved off to college. I remember my roommates inviting me to go to Denny's with them at 10pm on a weeknight. I was on a rigid budget but I had six dollars to spare and while I almost always was in bed by 10pm I made an exception because I had never paid for myself at a sit-down restaurant with menus and a waiter and everything and I was intrigued and excited... I went. I ordered pancake puppies, which cost me four dollars and left me enough to tip. Pretty sure it was in the top five cheapest things on the menu category, but I didn't care. Eating out was a hoot. Chatting with friends while people brought you food you'd never tried before, never even heard of before--my goodness, it was awesome.
I still kept to my tight budget, but when opportunity landed itself I wanted to give everything my taste buds could handle a shot. My increasingly diversifying pool of college friends invited me to the tastes of their homelands. My year-and-a-half as a missionary in Gig Harbor, WA and later Argentina thrust me into a world of seafood delights and Germanic-Italian-SouthAmerican cuisine. P-town restaurants caught my eye with their bright neon signs and colorful start-up posters, and I entered, and ate.... J-Dawgs specialty hot dogs smothered in the secret sauce. Hruska's Kolaches with their delectable dough. Pupusas with platanos con crema on the side. Milanesas Napolitanas, the red sauce cascading down the edge of the chicken. I launched into my life as a full-blown foodie.
Kevin says he never took girls out to eat til he met me, but something about our relationship changed him, and together we've tried dozens of places. I'll never forget our date to Harmons, where we learned about Buddha fingers (a lemon-like citrus fruit) and tried our first dragonfruit. The locally crafted products glittered, they called to me--and here we go again, Butterscotch Root-beer, Blueberry Chia Seed Oatmeal, Noosa Aussie yogurt... need I go on?
When we both worked, our budget was far more flexible, and more dollars than I care to admit made their way into our grocery and eating-out funds (and more calories than I care to admit made their residence on my waistline). But as way leads on to way our journey has changed, and we're adjusting our ways to pinch pennies and enjoy life more conservatively and healthfully.
Which leads me back to pot roasts, cheesy bread, spaghetti, pancakes, blender-created smoothies, tossed salads, and yes, to the heirloom method for spreading whipped cream on the jello. However, my respect and love for the homemade genre of food has a heightened meaning now that I'm the woman behind the whisk. I think of my mom and my grandmas, with their babies on their hips and their kids laughter (or fighting) wafting through the open kitchen window as the oven blazes the kitchen into unbearable heat, as they stir the taco soup for dinner. I think of them asking their kidlets to set the table and kissing their hubbies as they arrive home from work. I think of the conversations had around the table while everyone reports their day, tease one another relentlessly, and ask to be excused. While there is no shame in my foodie ventures, there's a special place in the foods homemade, and I'm grateful.
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