We can cook like that, trust me.

Food.

I love food. It's all that I ever think about. Ask anyone that knows me well. I am always thinking about my next meal. My kids next meal. My husband's...well, no. To be honest, I never think about his meals. He is pretty self-sufficient. And boring, culinarily speaking. That's good, because it leaves me more time to think about my next meal. (And yes, I know culinarily is not a real word, but it works.)

Food has been a part of my life for as long as I remember. Seriously. Food evokes these memories in me that I cannot describe through words, but that I can taste and smell when I close my eyes. Food was my family's way to connect to each other. It was something to look forward to. Preparation was a time to talk and traditions were made in the kitchen. Blah. Blah. Blah. Everyone that loves food has these same stories it seems. So here is mine, cleaned up, with the family skeletons vacuum sealed and tucked away in the back of the freezer.

Food always starts with mothers and grandmothers it seems. Both of my grandmothers loved and worked with food, in different ways. They both worked in central kitchens for small school districts in Southern California. Central kitchens were the places lunch offerings were prepared, cookies were baked and well-rounded meals were sent to the school district schools to be served by "lunch ladies" in hair nets. But - "lunch ladies" that knew your name, knew how to cook, and enjoyed kids. My Granny worked baking cookies, rolls, breads, etc. Every time I went to see her at work, I got a hot, freshly baked cookie. My Grama worked as what we would now call an Executive Assistant - a secretary, but a good one. Either way, I got a fresh, hot, buttery cookie when I visited either of them.

My Granny, cooked typical Mexican food. Not chimichangas and nachos, but beans, rice and tortillas. I watched her roast green chiles over a gas stove and turn them into salsa verde. I learned how to make tortillas by hand, with no cookbook. The need for flour depended on how dry the air was or how moist the dough was. I watched her flip and shape five tortillas faster than I could ever make one. She cooked chorizo, eggs, and the best potatos that I have never been able to duplicate. There was a whole herb garden in her patio. She did not have any fancy pans, just cast iron skillets and a few small stockpots. When my grandfather bought her a set of non-stick pans, I'm not sure she knew what to do with them! Every Christmas brought tins of cookies, tiny little cookies. She tried to see how many cookies she could get out of each batch of dough. Teeny-tiny cookies. Good cookies though......Granny was not so good with meat. I ate really, really, dry overdone roasts, tough inexpensive steaks, salmon patties, and tongue. Yes, beef tongue. Feeling taste buds from a cow on your taste buds is an experience I will never forget.

My Grama, on the other hand, gave me another food experience. Grama was widowed at too early of an age, and her kids left home soon after. She settled into life, in an apartment, and liked her routine. I remember her eating the same thing every morning. And it was that familiarity that I loved. Eggs, bacon, toast and coffee every morning. Every morning. Oh the smell of cooking bacon! Maybe she would mix it up with a biscuit on the weekends. Pork chops cooked to crispy perfection, Lawry's spaghetti sauce, Portuguese Pot Roast, Chicken casserole, salad with Salad Supreme Seasoning, Cracker Barrel cheese. Good, simple comfort food that I love. There were holiday meals that were prepared by her and my mom, to feed crowds some years - or just close family other years. She didn't veer too much from the simple classic American foods that she loved, but that is what I adored about her.

My mom, of course, has had a role in my love of food. She taught me how to cook my first meal, scrambled eggs. She instructed me, but did not partake of, my first omelet. I was 9 years old, and made an omelet of eggs, cinnamon and chocolate chips. Clearly, I was much more a baker than cook.

 It was many years later, that my mom trusted my with starting meals after I was home from high school. I complained about it, but secretly, I was fascinated by the science behind browning a pot roast, steaming chicken under foil in the oven, learning how to make Bridgeford rolls, and watching the prime rib cook, before holiday meals. But it wasn't until I was in my twenties that my mom unknowingly lit a fire under me. We loved looking at cooking magazines. I picked up a copy of Gourmet magazine's Anniversary Issue and saw the most amazing creation on the front - Raspberry Dacquiose. I took it home and showed it to my mom and I talked about how beautiful it was. She remarked that "wouldn't that be great, but you and I can't cook like that". Then, my step-father remarked later that I couldn't possibly make a cheesecake that I saw on another foodie magazine cover. I saw those statements as a challenge. Grand Marnier Strawberry Cheesecake was his on Father's Day. And it was good. Hmph. Enter stubborness and tenacity in the kitchen. I love my mom for inadvertantly lighting a fire under me.

Oh, I guess I'll mention my father. He loves food too. He introduced me to many good restaurants in Orange County - some dives, some elegant. He showed me how to grill salmon, I ate pesto for the first time after he returned from Italy, along with biscotti (the real stuff, not the ones in coffee houses), loved the taste and texture of torrone, and ate anything he cooked. I made a Bailey's Chocolate Chip Cheesecake for dessert after one of his art shows, and he loved it and encouraged me to cook more. Gladly.

So long story short, 24 years later and I am now gluten-free and basically a vegetarian. I am amazed I don't weigh 300 pounds because of what food means to me. I do have about 200 cookbooks, most have been read at least once. Most of them contain gluten-filled ingredients and meat-lovers dishes.Some are falling apart. I am an easy sale for a vintage cookbook. My mother-in-law had quite a few cookbooks. And even though I never met her, her handwriting, experience and cooking dreams live on in the collection of her cookbooks and recipes that I have inherited from her. Of course she was a culinary dreamer and I know why, I am married to her son. I love that hamburger or taco night make him happy. But I think we would have cooked our way through this book together, just because it would be so exciting.

So, because I have nothing better to do, I am going to cook my way through Mark Bittman's "How To Cook Everything Vegetarian". This book is one of my four go-to cookbooks. I am not going to cook every recipe, because I know how to make rice, how to boil and egg, and how to tear up a good salad. But I will be doing all the extras to the salad, trying the different flavorings for the rice and using a whole lot of eggs. Any recipe here can have meat added to it for you carnivores. I am not going to cook every recipe in order, because I love eating different things at every meal. But, I am cooking the book. Partly to see if I can, and partly to show my beautiful daughter that there is a whole world of food out there. We can cook like that, trust me.

Thanks for joining me!