My food Epiphany... "I don't like food. I don't like cooking and cleaning. If I didn't have to eat, I wouldn't." This attitude is a RESULT of a few things, but mainly from processed packaged fast factory food we have learned to eat. I NEVER ate like that in my parents home. It's time consuming to cook from scratch when you are out of practice, feed someone who doesn't really care or doesn't help and don't have the tools or space. For most of this year I have been trying to find my inner foodie and I'm still working on it. Food, in my family was a process we all enjoyed and did together. It was melt in your mouth, drizzle down your chin, sticky, sweet, love and laughter served on a plate. We always helped Mom bake, stir, chop or set the timer. Dad was always there too to chop, grill, do dishes or just try and get in the way and cause mischief. We all took turns "flipping the records" and playing with the cats who were both sprawled on the floor watching it all.
When I moved out and created a home of my own, I tried to continue the tradition of cooking, but it slowly has dwindled and died in a box of Mac and cheese alone. No wonder I fell out of love with food. Nothing had the flavor of homemade, the spirit of the process was gone and it all sat like a lump in the pit of my stomach. In the holiday spirit last night, I made cranberry bread for the first time in many years. With a pile of fresh, crisp cranberries, the heat of the oven and warm bread sliced with fresh butter- I REMEMBERED.
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