I’ll be blunt. I’m not a delicate person. OK. Maybe on the inside. Not when it comes to food. I devour it. I eat with my hands. I’ll drink the milk from the bottom of the cereal bowl. I’ll lick the plate clean. Sometimes in front of people. If I do, it means I love you.
I have a voracious appetite. At 16, I was eating more than my dad. I don’t count calories. I don’t skimp when it comes to cream, butter, or anything else bad for me. When you want to make a dish better, add booze or fat.
I am angered by picky eaters. Not annoyed, angered. It makes me want to scream.
I giggle when I’m eating a really good meal. I get butterflies. My adrenaline soars. Who needs skydiving?
I equated food with love at a very early age. At 4, I would dress up as a waiter - hair slicked back, tea towel draped over my arm, notepad in hand, and ask my mom (in my best English accent), “May I take your order ma’am?”
I was 5 when my mom woke up to me making French Toast in the kitchen. Alone. Then I went to kindergarten and wrote in my journal that the reason I love my mom and dad is because they let me make French Toast.
I traveled quite a bit as a youngster. I was always up for trying something new. Shepherd’s Pie in England. Haggis in Scotland. Homemade sausage and Clam Chowder in New England. Lobster in the Maritimes. Sushi in Toronto. Dim Sum in Vancouver.
Where I first became passionate about food was in Sault Ste. Marie, ON. Not the culinary apex of the world. But the population is 80-90% Italian. Those guys are serious about their food. I gained 40lbs in a matter of months.
The pizza there was something of a legend. I was working for an airline at the time and you could always guarantee that someone would bring a pizza onboard to share with the people meeting them at the arrivals gate. There is a Chinese restaurant there named, “The Hard Wok Café”. Owned by Italians. Just be warned, the sesame chicken comes topped with red sauce. This was a city where Garlic was king. Invited to a co-workers house for dinner one night, we had 40-clove garlic Chicken. One 4lb chicken. 40 cloves of slow, sweet roasted garlic. I thought I had to die to go to heaven. I was wrong.
Another move. This time to Windsor, ON. The self proclaimed armpit of Canada. I beg to differ.
I’ve traveled to many cities and Windsor should be proud to have such a diverse ethnic community with such a small population.
A lazy afternoon drive can take you to the many different vineyards in Essex County. In the summertime, you can’t drive more than 15min without seeing a roadside fruit and vegetable stand. The climate here is perfect for growing many items not available, fresh from the ground, in the rest of Canada. Tomatoes, potatoes, peppers, cucumbers, still warm from the earth’s heat.
On any night of the week, you can indulge in Indian, Ethiopian, Spanish, Greek, Thai, Vietnamese, Japanese, Irish, Croatian, French, and any other cultural delight you can think of. And no matter where you are, you can probably drive there in under 15 minutes.
So, I packed up my office and left the airline to devote my energy and passion to food. I am currently registered as an Apprentice and work at a restaurant that focuses on catering and take-out. We were just nominated as one of the “Best Gourmet Caterers” in the city. My Chef is one of the funniest, kindest, most generous men I know. Watching him cook makes me smile; inspires me. Plus, his idol is Gene Simmons. He dresses in full KISS costume on occasion. He’s one of the most talented and respected Chef’s in the area. It took me a year of badgering him for a job before he finally took a chance. It was worth it.
I have a voracious appetite. At 16, I was eating more than my dad. I don’t count calories. I don’t skimp when it comes to cream, butter, or anything else bad for me. When you want to make a dish better, add booze or fat.
I am angered by picky eaters. Not annoyed, angered. It makes me want to scream.
I giggle when I’m eating a really good meal. I get butterflies. My adrenaline soars. Who needs skydiving?
I equated food with love at a very early age. At 4, I would dress up as a waiter - hair slicked back, tea towel draped over my arm, notepad in hand, and ask my mom (in my best English accent), “May I take your order ma’am?”
I was 5 when my mom woke up to me making French Toast in the kitchen. Alone. Then I went to kindergarten and wrote in my journal that the reason I love my mom and dad is because they let me make French Toast.
I traveled quite a bit as a youngster. I was always up for trying something new. Shepherd’s Pie in England. Haggis in Scotland. Homemade sausage and Clam Chowder in New England. Lobster in the Maritimes. Sushi in Toronto. Dim Sum in Vancouver.
Where I first became passionate about food was in Sault Ste. Marie, ON. Not the culinary apex of the world. But the population is 80-90% Italian. Those guys are serious about their food. I gained 40lbs in a matter of months.
The pizza there was something of a legend. I was working for an airline at the time and you could always guarantee that someone would bring a pizza onboard to share with the people meeting them at the arrivals gate. There is a Chinese restaurant there named, “The Hard Wok Café”. Owned by Italians. Just be warned, the sesame chicken comes topped with red sauce. This was a city where Garlic was king. Invited to a co-workers house for dinner one night, we had 40-clove garlic Chicken. One 4lb chicken. 40 cloves of slow, sweet roasted garlic. I thought I had to die to go to heaven. I was wrong.
Another move. This time to Windsor, ON. The self proclaimed armpit of Canada. I beg to differ.
I’ve traveled to many cities and Windsor should be proud to have such a diverse ethnic community with such a small population.
A lazy afternoon drive can take you to the many different vineyards in Essex County. In the summertime, you can’t drive more than 15min without seeing a roadside fruit and vegetable stand. The climate here is perfect for growing many items not available, fresh from the ground, in the rest of Canada. Tomatoes, potatoes, peppers, cucumbers, still warm from the earth’s heat.
On any night of the week, you can indulge in Indian, Ethiopian, Spanish, Greek, Thai, Vietnamese, Japanese, Irish, Croatian, French, and any other cultural delight you can think of. And no matter where you are, you can probably drive there in under 15 minutes.
So, I packed up my office and left the airline to devote my energy and passion to food. I am currently registered as an Apprentice and work at a restaurant that focuses on catering and take-out. We were just nominated as one of the “Best Gourmet Caterers” in the city. My Chef is one of the funniest, kindest, most generous men I know. Watching him cook makes me smile; inspires me. Plus, his idol is Gene Simmons. He dresses in full KISS costume on occasion. He’s one of the most talented and respected Chef’s in the area. It took me a year of badgering him for a job before he finally took a chance. It was worth it.
No comments:
Post a Comment