shake and bake

The back story is always important. I grew up with the incredible luxury of eating my mom’s home cooked meals. I was the kid who thought other kids were lucky for getting to eat white bread and macaroni and cheese from the Kraft box. As previously mentioned, my family benefited greatly from food straight from my grandparent’s garden. I never held much interest in cooking, and luckily for me my mom never seemed to mind. As long as I helped with clean up I was allowed to be outdoors shooting hoops or whatever else sounded fun. However, one of my fondest childhood memories is when I would get to bake with mom. If she had any left over pie dough, my sister Bec and I were allowed full licensed creativity to make our own desserts. The kitchen held a thrill of possibilities and we embraced it whole heartedly. I loved that I could put anything or any amount of ingredients on my dough. For a few minutes in time, I was one with my hearts desires. All too soon our pies would be placed in the oven and we would anxiously await for dad to get home. Looking back, I now wonder if he consumed them so quickly in delight or in an effort to shorten the experiences. Either way, he would eat them with gusto and praise our culinary skills with the full spectrum of fatherly love and devotion. My dad is truly one in a million. Granted, it may have given me a slightly inaccurate idea that I could cook, out at least bake. Truthfully, all I needed was his affirmation so I never bothered to consider that I wasn’t a natural.

I am going to share with you one of my dad’s favorite stories about me. I was seventeen. I had started playing around in the kitchen again and during a trip to the grocery store with a friend I picked up a box of Shake and Bake chicken. Back at home in the kitchen preparing to create a feast, I opened the box and said a line that will undoubtedly haunt me for the rest of my days. “Where’s the chicken?”

So when I talk about cooking with enthusiasm and a sense of pride, I have indeed come a long way. In fact, I probably started out in the negative all things considered. It is truly not boasting, it is more revealing in the fact that I am indeed learning to become the cook I have always aspired to be. Luckily for me, I married a man who is already a natural in the kitchen. Like my father, he is also one in a million, though a tad more honest when it comes to my disasters. There’s been a lot to laugh about and cooking with him in the kitchen is one of my favorite things for us to do together. Garrett believes in me endlessly, which means I continue to hold near to the notion that I can make anything.