on the joy of food
“People who love to eat are always the best people.” -Julia Child
I cannot abide picky eaters. Which is interesting as I started life as just that. Growing up as a little Swedish princess had a downside, only I didn’t realise it at the time.
I had the goodness of having a great grandma that baked our bread and cinnamon rolls and could flip Swedish pancakes with a dinner fork. For reference, I can’t even flip them with a wide spatula.
Everyday, upon waking from my nap, I was served a bowl of raw tomatoes, green peppers, cucumbers, and celery. To this day, I gorge on fresh tomatoes every chance I get. Sometimes I break out from eating so many.
Dinners were usually lamb chops or a roast served with mint jelly. While this food was delicious and homemade, it lacked variety.
When my mother remarried, one of the first things to happen was my new dad telling us I would not get special meals. I would eat what everyone else did. One of the small handful of things he did for which I am grateful.
I discovered an entire new world of flavours and textures and delights. His mother, Tillie, taught me wonderful Bohemian dishes, such as pickled beef hearts, veal paprika, tomato gravy, and peach dumplings. I learned the difference between sauerkraut and sweet and sour cabbage. I learned how to make both potato and bread dumplings as different meals required one or the other.
I sat at her large kitchen table as she made kolaches (my favourites were the poppy seed and apricot ones), date bread (made in tin cans), grape coffee cake made with grapes from her vines, and chocolate chip cookies which she kept in a huge jar in her pantry. That jar was never empty.
My culinary education continued with family cookouts for Memorial Day, the Fourth of July, and Labour Day. Charred hot dogs and hamburgers and chicken on the outdoor rotisserie that literally fell off the bone. Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners where all aunts and uncles brought dishes to share, some quite memorable, if not very good.
The thing is, I discovered I actually was not a picky eater. I loved everything. Okay... almost everything. But I will try anything, at least once.
Travel only helped me in this worthwhile endeavour. I remember how thrilled I was on my first trip to Paris when I discovered I could buy small pieces of the cheeses of my choice, like chocolates, to carry with me for sustenance on my city rambles. I am easily pleased.
I found out éclairs came filled with coffee-flavoured crème in Nice. Their lightness of being never made me feel guilty for enjoying this midday pleasure with a petit café noir.
I’ve already talked about my experience with foie gras in Avignon. No further words are necessary.
I learned the difference between northern Pacific oysters and Gulf oysters. Both delicious, but I must admit a partiality to the obscenely huge southern varieties. I learned I much prefer crawfish to the over-hyped lobster.
I also learned which wines I prefer. A rich burgundy, a refreshing côté du Rhône, a tangy gewurztraminer. I found I could drink champagne without the headache. But it couldn’t be American champagne. Most recently, I found I do like beer, thanks to Abita's Amber Ale.
This gastronomical journey has made me more experimental in my own cooking. I know what will work sometimes. Other times, it’s a process to discover what works best. Whichever it is, it’s very worthwhile.
I still cannot abide picky eaters. I find it very sad when someone limits themselves to only a handful of foods and has no desire to push their boundaries. For me, that says much about the sort of person they are and they are not the sort I would want to spend a great deal of time around as they probably limit themselves in other ways, too. Life’s too short. And there are still some bleus I have yet to try.
I cannot abide picky eaters. Which is interesting as I started life as just that. Growing up as a little Swedish princess had a downside, only I didn’t realise it at the time.
I had the goodness of having a great grandma that baked our bread and cinnamon rolls and could flip Swedish pancakes with a dinner fork. For reference, I can’t even flip them with a wide spatula.
Everyday, upon waking from my nap, I was served a bowl of raw tomatoes, green peppers, cucumbers, and celery. To this day, I gorge on fresh tomatoes every chance I get. Sometimes I break out from eating so many.
Dinners were usually lamb chops or a roast served with mint jelly. While this food was delicious and homemade, it lacked variety.
When my mother remarried, one of the first things to happen was my new dad telling us I would not get special meals. I would eat what everyone else did. One of the small handful of things he did for which I am grateful.
I discovered an entire new world of flavours and textures and delights. His mother, Tillie, taught me wonderful Bohemian dishes, such as pickled beef hearts, veal paprika, tomato gravy, and peach dumplings. I learned the difference between sauerkraut and sweet and sour cabbage. I learned how to make both potato and bread dumplings as different meals required one or the other.
I sat at her large kitchen table as she made kolaches (my favourites were the poppy seed and apricot ones), date bread (made in tin cans), grape coffee cake made with grapes from her vines, and chocolate chip cookies which she kept in a huge jar in her pantry. That jar was never empty.
My culinary education continued with family cookouts for Memorial Day, the Fourth of July, and Labour Day. Charred hot dogs and hamburgers and chicken on the outdoor rotisserie that literally fell off the bone. Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners where all aunts and uncles brought dishes to share, some quite memorable, if not very good.
The thing is, I discovered I actually was not a picky eater. I loved everything. Okay... almost everything. But I will try anything, at least once.
Travel only helped me in this worthwhile endeavour. I remember how thrilled I was on my first trip to Paris when I discovered I could buy small pieces of the cheeses of my choice, like chocolates, to carry with me for sustenance on my city rambles. I am easily pleased.
I found out éclairs came filled with coffee-flavoured crème in Nice. Their lightness of being never made me feel guilty for enjoying this midday pleasure with a petit café noir.
I’ve already talked about my experience with foie gras in Avignon. No further words are necessary.
I learned the difference between northern Pacific oysters and Gulf oysters. Both delicious, but I must admit a partiality to the obscenely huge southern varieties. I learned I much prefer crawfish to the over-hyped lobster.
I also learned which wines I prefer. A rich burgundy, a refreshing côté du Rhône, a tangy gewurztraminer. I found I could drink champagne without the headache. But it couldn’t be American champagne. Most recently, I found I do like beer, thanks to Abita's Amber Ale.
This gastronomical journey has made me more experimental in my own cooking. I know what will work sometimes. Other times, it’s a process to discover what works best. Whichever it is, it’s very worthwhile.
I still cannot abide picky eaters. I find it very sad when someone limits themselves to only a handful of foods and has no desire to push their boundaries. For me, that says much about the sort of person they are and they are not the sort I would want to spend a great deal of time around as they probably limit themselves in other ways, too. Life’s too short. And there are still some bleus I have yet to try.
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| kitchen still life ©Trish Korous |
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| Plate bought at Forever New Orleans Unfortunately, they no longer stock this plate. © Trish Korous |
unfortunately, my belly shows my lack of pickiness, but I prefer certain foods, mexican and japanese and all the middle eastern countries.
ReplyDeleteand more unfortunately, I love desserts.
sigh...
Ah, yes. I am familiar with that phenomenon, Susan. 😂😍
Delete