I love eating foods that I can enjoy the taste of and not feel sickly full of afterwards.

I love to cook. I learned from my mom, but we’ve sort of switched roles now because she’s not very adventurous and I am. These days, I try new techniques and recipes and pass them along to her. But do not misunderstand me, I am NOT a better cook than my mom. She is a classic, comforting cook and I want to be like her. She always remembers people’s favorite meals and even flavors. Our family meals tend to have way too many sides because she always wants each person to have his or her favorite.

I will never be able to make my mom’s chicken soup, her breaded pork chops or her rice pilaf. She has tried to teach me these three, as she taught me so many others. But I honestly think I have some sort of mental block — I WANT her to keep making them for me. So I’ve given up. Sometimes the best thing about cooking is failing miserably and enjoying someone else’s success all the more.

I cook just about every day because it’s cheaper and usually more healthy than the alternative. I enjoy cooking now, because it’s something that interests me. I used to rely heavily on appreciation of people I’d cook for, but it ruined my cooking experience a lot of times. My favorite food memories were the crepes my father would make us for breakfast on special saturdays, gumbos, crawfish boils, couvillon (which is pretty much creole bouillabaisse) made by my mother and memories of working as sous chefs with my sisters for the big meals my family would have, pecans from my great uncle’s orchards (roasted pecans, prailines, pecan pie). I could go on and on. My least favorite would have to be a turkey loaf and badly cooked rice dinner that just taught me to try harder. I think having somebody who cares about me cook something for me usually makes it taste better. Note that I said usually.

Most of the nights we went out or had the staff at his Grandma’s home cook for us, but we decided to host the family for dinner one night. This meant shopping in an amazing market (utilizing our rusty Spanish), creating a menu of our choosing, and hosting 25 family members in our borrowed home. It was a phenomenal experience…bringing together food and family. Allowing us to really experience another culture through their food.

Favorite food memory: Sneaking chunks of blue cheese off of the counter at my family’s restaurant before it got made into blue cheese dressing (I was 4 or 5 at the time).

I practically grew up in the kitchen and my Italian grandmother recently gave me a copy of her “Dona Patrona” cook book and etiquette book. It’s in Spanish and there are about a zillion post-it notes and other handwritten notes from my great-grandmother and my grandmother and my aunt in there. I don’t even want to open it bc I’m afraid something will happen to it. They covered it with contact paper years ago bc it was falling apart and that cover is now falling apart. When my parents got married 35 years ago my grandmother gave my mother a copy. I adore that book. I will treasure it forever.