What is your favorite personal food story?
On another post we were talking about cookbooks we like to read and I thought we all must have at least one interesting personal story that would make for good food reading. Like the time my mother was away and my father, sister and I we were making spagetti and it kept boiling over. My father never cooked and he didn't know to turn the temperature down on the boiling water. The sauce was no problem.
As children we all sat at the table as a family for dinner. If you asked for the salt to be passed my father instinctively would add salt to his dish and then pass the salt. So my sister and I would ask for the salt, he would salt his food. We would pass the salt back in front of him and we would ask for the salt and again, he would salt his food. Then he would complain to my mother that she cooked with too much salt.
I have many more but I bet your stories would be great to read. I hope you jump in and jot one down.
For me it's got to be the first time that my boyfriend (now husband) prepared his version of a home cooked meal for me. The menu was to be a surprise. When I arrived at his place and was seated at the table, he had prepared one of those frozen little boxed turkeys...you know...the ones that come in a loaf pan where half the loaf of turkey is dark and the other is the white meat. Along with that, he had heated up a can of pre-seasoned black beans and served it up with Uncle Ben's rice. We also shared frozen Goya maduros, Goya yucca (cassava) in bottled mojo sauce and an iceberg lettuce salad. Dessert was flan, of course, prepared from the Goya box. Although this meal consisted of mostly processed foods, I did eat it with great gusto, as I realized this was a great effort on his part.
My mom is a phenomenal and crafty cook, and would never dream of using processed products. Even at my tender age of 18, I was able to discern the vast difference in food flavors. His mom, the complete opposite of mine, never enjoyed cooking, so processed was the way to go. The fact that he tried to impress me made it all the more valuable in my heart and eyes. I'll never forget that meal, as it's become one of my all time favorites. That was over 20 years ago, and together we have learned to appreciate and love good food.
My grandmother once found a "recipe" for muffins that said all it takes is self-rising flour and melted ice cream (which would, in theory, account for milk, eggs, sugar, etc). Any flavor. She sent me to the store on my bike--wearing cowboy boots--for strawberry.
The muffins were terrible. My grandmother's belief in alchemy (it only BEGINS with muffins) was an inspiration.