I Love Food
My last post led me straight to another post.... I must confess - I love food.
We've all been there - looking at the last slice of pizza. We gauge where everyone else is on their current slice, and we take a few huge bites so that we can guarantee that the last one is ours. Growing up in a family that loved to eat allowed all of us the mindset to race for the last slice.
Not that we were ever without. There were six children all at the height of their eating frenzy. My mother and father worked hard to make dinner an event. I was at a party with my sister one time, and she explained to my wife - "Dinner is not a game. This is serious business."
My mother would cook 30 pork chops to feed us. I once watched my father eat 14 ear of corn at one sitting. It wasn't a contest - that's what he wanted.
I've won past eating contests. My first thought today was about how I'd get the sauce done before church. My wife, who has never known the pleasure of eating herself to pain, often gets frustrated with me because while clearing the breakfast dishes I'll ask about our plans for dinner.
No, eating isn't a game - when I think of my favorite dinner - I am torn between linguine and clam sauce or breaded pork chops with my mother's potato salad - I get a little choked up inside.
Yes, growing up in a close-knit Italian-American family has caused some of these problems. Racing to see who could eat more certainly didn't help. But I refuse to apologize. Eating well isn't a game - it is a gift. It is serious business.
Gotta' go - the meatballs are done.
We've all been there - looking at the last slice of pizza. We gauge where everyone else is on their current slice, and we take a few huge bites so that we can guarantee that the last one is ours. Growing up in a family that loved to eat allowed all of us the mindset to race for the last slice.
Not that we were ever without. There were six children all at the height of their eating frenzy. My mother and father worked hard to make dinner an event. I was at a party with my sister one time, and she explained to my wife - "Dinner is not a game. This is serious business."
My mother would cook 30 pork chops to feed us. I once watched my father eat 14 ear of corn at one sitting. It wasn't a contest - that's what he wanted.
I've won past eating contests. My first thought today was about how I'd get the sauce done before church. My wife, who has never known the pleasure of eating herself to pain, often gets frustrated with me because while clearing the breakfast dishes I'll ask about our plans for dinner.
No, eating isn't a game - when I think of my favorite dinner - I am torn between linguine and clam sauce or breaded pork chops with my mother's potato salad - I get a little choked up inside.
Yes, growing up in a close-knit Italian-American family has caused some of these problems. Racing to see who could eat more certainly didn't help. But I refuse to apologize. Eating well isn't a game - it is a gift. It is serious business.
Gotta' go - the meatballs are done.
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