I’ve kicked around the idea of starting a food blog for quite a while now. I feel qualified for this position for a few reasons. One, I love food. And I love GOOD food. …Admittedly, I love really bad food occasionally, but overall, I’m a well behaved foodie. Two, I love cooking. I love it even more when there’s someone other than me to consume the final product, but I won’t discriminate an opportunity to make my apartment smell completely delicious. Three, I have more cookbooks than I can read in a lifetime. I have made quite an impressive list of qualifications for myself. However, perhaps the most compelling argument for food blogging is that it’s the freaking internet. And I can go on, and on, and on, and on about things like my love for greek yogurt, or my slight aversion to mushrooms, or how there is just nothing that satisfies my soul the way that a perfectly iced cake does.
The way I see it, you have to eat. You have to eat a lot of food in a lifetime. There is really no reason that food can’t be good. But good doesn’t mean gourmet or took six hours to make or had to fly to Guatemala to get half of the ingredients. Good means the kind of food that just makes you step back for a moment, realize the beauty of the substance in your mouth and smile on the inside before you go for the next bite.
I, too, live a normal human existence and therefore have the aforementioned reaction to my food about 10% of the time. I mean, that kind of reaction to raisin bran in the morning (especially pre-coffee) might be a bit too much. BUT, when a meal falls into that 10% it is a beautiful thing. A beautiful thing that really should happen more often. A thing that I was reminded of when I returned home after a mentally anguishing day and stepped up to my sink. I washed and sliced a bagful of red peppers from the farmers market, blended them in the food processor, whisked up a roux and the only thoughts that crossed my mind were remnants of stressful day. It wasn’t until I took my oversized spoon, dipped it into my bowl and put a bite into my mouth that I was whisked away from the thoughts I’d been stewing in got lost in the flavors and textures I’d created.
Romantic sentiments about food aside, I make a wicked good pot of Red Pepper Soup. Part of the reason I love it so much is because it’s an original recipe. The other reason is that it’s, um, delicious. I really hope it’s not the same sort of syndrome that I have about my mother’s Poppy Seed Noodles where I seem to be the only one under its spell. I think Poppy Seed Noodles is possibly the greatest side dish ever created. Poppy seeds. Noodles. Butter. What more could you want? But everyone I have cooked these for is quite underwhelmed by them. I mean, seriously unimpressed. I think they’re crazy, but I’ve never been known for my ability to turn down carbs covered in fat. Truly, people are missing out.
My hope is that everyone has a Poppy Seed Noodle or a Red Pepper Soup of their own. That food you eat that takes you somewhere else. That dish that only gets a long hard look when your spoon is coming up empty. That meal that literally makes you want to lick the plate. …Or, if you’re like me, actually lick the plate.