For the Love of Cooking

Everyone views love differently. I like to think I'm a sort of Italian grandmother trapped in a 25 year old body. I love to feed people. If I could spend the rest of my life just cooking for everyone I love, I would. You know I love you if I want to cook for you. To me it's like giving someone a little piece of edible feelings. I cook when I'm happy. I cook when I'm sad. I cook a lot if I'm angry. Trying out a new recipe and seeing peoples reactions is just about the highlight of my day, although having someone say "Oh, will you cook 'this' for me?" might even better.

It's funny though, because I never expect anything to turn out well. Maybe it's a 'hope for the best, prep for the worst' type of attitude, but I'm really not kidding. The other night, I cooked up a meal that I basically made up. I had an idea of what I wanted it to be, but mostly winged it. One friend was in from out of town, and I thought it'd be fun to make something new for him. I had him take a bite, and he with all seriousness looked my in the eye and told me it was horrible. I almost cried, luckily for my sanity he quickly said it was great and he was joking.

Cooking to me is like a scrapbook. Certain flavors and tastes and combinations send me back to wonderful times in my life. The crunch of snap peas takes me to my grandmothers kitchen table in summertime. One slice of apple pie and it's Thanksgiving, no matter what time of year. The smell of Cajun spices and it's like I'm back in New Orleans on a bar terrace cracking crawfish in the summer heat. Tastes and smells combine with places and people in a beautiful ribbon through my life.