Me + Food = Happy

After every successful dinner party, baby or bridal shower, and holiday soiree that I've thrown, I always got the inevitable "Why don't you do this for a living?" or "You really should think about being a party planner/chef/caterer/etc.". And of course, I privately basked in those kind of compliments, who doesn't like a good ego stroking? Ego aside though, the praise led me to question why I was putting so much time and effort into (supposedly) simple gatherings of friends. Why did I spend hours, sometimes days creating a perfect menu? Why did I blow two weeks worth of grocery money on flowers, new place settings and whatever other item I deemed vital to the self-inflicted theme of the affair? Was I doing it for the glory, the recognition by my friends and family that I was good at something? I didn't think so. I am not a hard worker by nature and mere flattery is just not enough of a motivator to push me to spend hours making sure every detail is perfect. The answer was quite simple, at least on the surface. I just really, really liked doing it. I already knew I liked cooking, but I discovered that I really enjoyed creating these fleeting moments in time where everything is perfect and you look around the room and see that everyone is connected with a singular emotion and a collective energy. The moment when each guest's plate is full and the only sounds are of utensils scraping. Or the peak of the party when the music is going, glasses are clinking and everyone is talking just a little too loudly, but the air itself seems to be smiling. Or when old friends are trading stories with someone who was a stranger just an hour earlier, but now feels like a familiar pal. I adore those moments. Thinking about them now is like flipping through the happiest photo album ever.

In retrospect, I see now that the way I always answered that question asked by my friends, my guests, my family, was a crock of shit, to be blunt. I used to tell people that I loved cooking so much, I didn't want to ruin it by doing it for a living. Or that I enjoyed my leisure time too much, I didn't want to work nights and weekends. And so after the high of a great party with great company, I would come back down to earth, and try to figure out how to find a job I actually enjoyed. I probably would have been better off just slamming my head in an oven door several hundred times. People were literally telling me on a weekly basis to pursue what I clearly had a knack and a passion for and I was dismissing it because it didn't really fit with my idea of what our life should be.

Fast forward to the present. I would like to thank every single person who told me I should pursue a career in food and cumulatively chipped away at the hard shell surrounding the area of my brain that houses common sense. I like to imagine that Mike actually drove in the spike that cracked it open when he asked me "If you could go back to school, what would you study?" and I answered (without pause) "Culinary school, but I don't want to work chefs hours". No sooner had the words left my mouth I realized I could no longer dismiss a (much desired) career because it didn't jive with my 5 year plan. Which, if I am being honest, pretty much consisted of us buying a house, maybe, and getting season tickets to the Chargers games, definitely. I know, rock solid, but that kind of change is a leap and maybe I needed the time and several more dinner parties to be ready to make it. I couldn't be happier that I did, with a heaping dose of help from Mike, of course and several nudges, pushes and reassuring talks from friends and family. The point is that I love food in the way that if given the choice between being locked in the same room for the rest of my life with an ever changing menu of well prepared meals or being able to wander the earth freely eating only rice, I would walk willingly into that room.

I love what can be created with food and what food can create between people. I have warm fuzzy childhood memories associated with my mom's oven fried chicken, my dad's Bolognese sauce and my Grandma J's icebox cookies. Food has been there at every turn in my life: weddings, funerals, family meals, ice cream socials, picnics, barbecues, and special dinners celebrated in fancy restaurants. But before I dig too deep into this food as life as emotion metaphor, I will cut to the chase. Being in culinary school and learning to cook really well has not "ruined it" for me. It has inspired and excited me and most importantly reminded me everyday of the things that I cherish most in life: my family, my friends and always having good food to share with them. So I am going to go help myself to another bowl of wild mushroom orrechiette that I made lovingly for myself, since Mike is out for the evening, and I will savor every bite.