Places

Every place I go has food memories. I remember things from my childhood, especially food created by the people to whom I dedicated this blog.

I’d like to take you on some travels that have enhanced my appreciation for, and knowledge of food, its preparation and enjoyment.

To do this, I’ll have to make some outlines and give you cookbook references if I can’t get permission to post a recipe. I’ll give a name to the series (three parts for now) and hopefully start in the next week or so.

For now you’ll have to settle for a non-recipe and story.

My great-aunt Anna died when I was young. I’ve always had cool aunts. And uncles, sorry godfather! My parents didn’t think we were old enough for a funeral so went themselves, a 10-hour drive each way. Our regular sitters were college students but we needed a live-in.

They hired the most awful woman who broke our Scandinavian chairs from sitting in them and when I came home showing a 98% grade on a test just dismissed me. But the worst sin follows.

Mom followed Dad’s mother’s recipe for spinach that calls for a special roux that I (yes I can make a roux) don’t know even today. This woman made us spinach and I couldn’t eat it. I said, at age seven, “where’s the roux?” Yeah, I ate it because she probably would have thrown me across the room if I didn’t. But at nearly fifty, have I forgotten the spinach incident?

While we were good kids and didn’t put dead rodents in her bed or anything, I’m sure her brief stay was anything but pleasant. I can sleep well at night knowing that mean nannies will get their due.