Today is my fortieth birthday. Because I love to cook and eat, it got me to thinking about how much eating I've done so far in this life...and to do a bit of math.
I love old cookbooks. They seem like such an interesting window into the daily lives of our ancestors. Some of my favorites are from my grandmother's collection of food literature. Here's an example of a fascinating recipe from my of my most cherished little cookery tomes:
Commitment to the Earth and to their community got Ken Wetherell, Neil Robinson and Kwah Waadabi (ardent members at Portland, Oregon's People's Food Co-op) thinking about new
It's cold outside and the fire's going, you'd think I'd want a nice hot soup. But, no, I want ceviche! Normally I think of this as a warm-weather dish: chilled, citrusy, something you'd eat al fresco.
I always wanted to like these diminutive cabbages as a child, but the moment I popped one in my mouth it invariably found its way right back onto the plate (or napkin). Pretty. I'm amazed at how many adults still hold this same aversion.
I overheard someone say the other day that "salt is just salt" and I gasped in horror. I once had uttered something equally as reprehensible to my Italian friend whom, in my opinion, was taking far too long in the pasta aisle.
