I wrote those words in a comment to the previous post. I am sitting here now thinking about them while I eat. I have just finished an hour’s discussion with a neighbor about being a foodie. Today, a foodie is one who knows it all – not only how to fix a plate of edamame, but also one who can fire off in a second the nickname of the newest field-to-table chef in town. It’s a burden.
Ultimately, a person who cares deeply about breakfast, lunch, dinner (as I do), who thinks about waking up to the next meal and the next, is more than a foodie. Us types are obsessed.
And one has to wonder why and from whence it came. My mother was an awful cook. My grandmother was okay. Am I pushing family buttons here?
Or, is it that I learned from people out there in very far away places, that all important events can be lived and relived around a table? So that I, too would want to create a table, an enticement, a facilitating device?
Let's just say that I care that people eat well.
Tonight I booked a 21-course meal for Thanksgiving week-end and I thought nothing of it. After, I took out ten pots and pans and cooked up a classic for my daughter who is in town. Excess? No. Simply a never ending curiosity about… food.
The dishes are finally cleared, the pots scrubbed. Only now can I retire to post.
for the risotto