Archive for February 2nd, 2010

I am told that as a young preschooler, I would walk behind my mother saying “Mama, hold me, hold me!” whereupon she would turn, look down on me with a smile described only as besotted, and say “oh, well I guess.” Cue the housekeeper at the time, a wonderful woman I am led to believe, who would chime in “Ah, you’re going to spoil that child!” “Oh, no, she just wants to be held is all.”

Well, I can assure my readers that such treatment had definitively ended by my second brother’s arrival, and once I was well into the second decade of my life such coddling was a distant memory. However, I am still spoiled, and that is when it comes to food. See, my family is the ultimate formula for creating a food snob.

Yes, I admit I do not believe that Kraft cheese slices are actually edible. I raise an eyebrow at most things that come from the freezer section (Ice cream – the good kind – and frozen vegetables excluded). I operate under my stepfather’s direction: “fresh food is always good for you!” and, combine that with my mother’s leeriness with anything prepared outside of the house and not by yourself, well, you get the idea.

Not that I dislike restaurant food. Just bad restaurant food. Adulterated Italian food especially (like in Big Night: “That man should be killed for the food he serves! Do you know what goes on in that restaurant every night? RAPE! The rape of cuisine!”)  Oh, mangia-cake Italians, everything drenched in cheese, massive meatballs….I shudder. Unfortunately, I knew what risotto was by age ten, and could tell you that osso buco is always served with the saffron kind. I could translate “salt im boca” for you, and explain that while grain-fed veal makes the best, you can use chicken if it’s not available. The sage is fresh. Use the good prosciutto. It makes a difference.

But it’s not just Italian food. Thanksgiving dinner after Thanksgiving dinner that paid homage to the best American cooking – we had eight pies last year. And they weren’t made with store bought crust (not even Crisco, actually) and yes, I went to five different grocery stores trying to find the right cherries for the pie (sour, not Bing or “filling”). The apples were Romas. The meringue was made from scratch. It makes a difference.

Lately we have been enjoying Indian and South Asian food. My stepfather and I have experimented with different ratios of dark soy to tamarind in making Pad Thai just the right color and flavor. He scoured the stores all over looking for “Garlic chives” to no avail (his ostensible theory: if a meal doesn’t take a trip to several stores, one of which is ethnic and one is Central market, it’s just not the same). Thankfully, we have our favorite India Mart right down the street, selling everything from Kinder Surprises (which are now basically smuggled in since some wet blanket bureaucrat decided someone could choke on the small parts of the toy) to pounds of every spice you can imagine to samosas. Their prices are great, and the food is good (it makes a difference.)

Ironically, some in my family my think of me as a philistine – after all, I will eat store-bought sandwich bread. (my older sister won’t) However, I make my Dad proud by eating all kind of seafood, even clams and oysters, on occasion. He is right: once you’ve had good seafood, you can’t go back. And until you’ve had the best, don’t judge seafood.

However, I am a pretty level-headed person. I realize food can’t be everything in all places to all people. I realize that everyone has their own tastes and snobbery. I once had a friend who serially looked down on my homemade cookies because of their high butter content – as he ate a nice little prepackaged Cliff bar (eye roll). I admit to having a fondness for all kinds of chocolate bars (Twix, or Snickers if you’re really hungry. I may have been influenced by advertising there). I only recently found out cheese is mostly fat and therefore is not, in fact, that good for you. Marshmallows have a food group all their own, and they can be the store brand, especially if they are going to be melted. I might put ketchup on eggs, but only every once in a while.

It’s bad, I know. But at least I can blame it on anyone but me. After all, I would love wheat bread if only my mother hadn’t always fed me white as a child, and I’m sure I’d have higher tolerance for Miracle Whip if I had known of its existence before I turned a reasonable age. So, I blame my parents, and my older sister.  Now excuse me, I have one more piece left of my apple – organic, and a Fuji. Trust me, it makes a difference.