I don't know why it is, but all my life I have loved food. Food interests me. It excites me, and I know I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about it. Sometimes it frustrates me that I like food so much. Growing up as a dancer it was a conflict of interest to eat the way I wanted to, and to look the way I wanted to. (Or the way my teachers/judges/critics wanted me to.) But alas, chocolate cake from Magleby's and a flour tortilla with my Cafe Rio salad were not about to go by the wayside. Food makes me happy. And as embarrassing as it may, or should be to admit, I am delighted at every opportunity I have to eat. (Wow. I sound like I should weigh 500 lbs.)
I'm finding comfort in the book my book club selected to read this month, "My Life in France" by Julia Child. Finally I've found someone that can relate with me and my food-driven mind. I love Julia Child's personality and her "drink life in big gulps" mentality. I love the way she dreams about food and revels in every single bite she takes. My love for food is what drives my desire to cook. I love my time in the kitchen. I could read and skim over cookbooks all the live-long day. And the chance to create a table-scape just about sends me over the moon. Food is fun. I'm with Julia Child on this one.
A few scenes from last night's dinner: