Once in awhile, I meander through my thoughts as if I'm cruising over my collection of cook books. I ponder over Specific areas or favorites or I brood over something that has hung me up over and over again. I compare my life and thoughts too cooking and food, mainly because it has always been my 1st love as a child. Now, don't get me wrong, it's in no way, shape, or form a religion to me, but if I didn't have a Faith I would most likely be a Hissidic foodie. I would have dawn a Chef coat like a Catholic priest dawns the whites.
My fondest memory that associates with being in the kitchen was when I was 5 or 6 yrs old and hanging out with my gammy in her kitchen (Colinga, CA.) eating raw potatoes with kosher salt. She would cut wedge size strips and I would pounce with a "CRUNCH!" and the taste buds on my tongue would go wild with "gimme more, gimme more". The memory has stayed strong with me over the years, and I compare all food prepared by myself and all others, to that sensation and yearning of the taste buds. It has never lead me wrong when creating or tweaking any dish.
Once, Gammy was gone, I hooked into my Mom, whom I might add was a wonderful cook. She always leaned towards the baking/confectioner side of the kitchen. Mom did have a sweet tooth and loved to collect the recipes for them. I get my fetish for cook books honestly as I inherited ALL Mom's recipes which numbered into the thousands.
My Dad, however, was a great BBQ'er but when he hit the kitchen, which was usually Saturday or Sunday mornings, It meant bad seas ahead for my sister and I. Now let me start by saying Breakfast should never, EVER include the following items:
Broccoli, Cauliflower, Asparagus, Beets, Eggplant, Turnips, and Squash of any kind!!!
Dad would break out the electric flat-top and start cooking so Beacon filled the air of our weekend morning house with false hopes of Bacon and Pancakes so that my sister and I would be lulled. We would groggily come out of our rooms to the aromas. We would see my Mom in her zip-up full flannel gown with cigarette in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other smiling and asking if were hungry. She would be all excited while telling us "Your Dad has made some extra special Pancakes this morning." My sister and I, not having enough of those "Life experiences" yet, were herded to the table like Lambs to the slaughter. What to our eyes did we see? Pancakes! Well, not normal Pancakes. These Pancakes have marble size lumps in them. They looked to us like Pancakes other than the lumps. My Dad sat there Proud as a Chef who just received a Michelin star for his efforts. We, on the other hand, were starting to think this could be the "Surprise" Mom was so Jazzed over.
My sister was the 1st to ask, "What are the Lumps in the Pancakes?" and I was quick to ask right after, "Are there chocolate chips in the Pancakes?" Both of us hoping to get an affirmed and resounding "Yes! They are." But those words never left my Dads lips. Rather, he said, "I have made Cauliflower Pancakes this morning. Eat them up quick, because I have some more on the griddle in the shape of Mickey Mouse for you two munchkins."
This situation repeated itself many times over in our household with many different endings. Now, I don't recall the specific detail for this story's ending but, I did ask for Cereal and I did get a beating for trying to hide the Pancakes behind my Moms bookkeeping desk.
From those Breakfast moments, I swore to never include the listed veggies in any dish of any kind for breakfast Mains, ingredients, or sides. They do NOT belong on the breakfast table.
So with this little story I leave you with a little taste of my twisted journey with many more to come.