One could argue that we are, from birth, biologically predisposed to an obsession with food.
There are varying degrees, obviously—some crouch quietly for hours, scanning snowy landscapes for the glimpse of an antler, others scour the pantry for a quick fix in the form of microwaveable popcorn. Some do both and grab a cookie for dessert. Regardless of how or what or why, food is inextricably linked to our habits and happiness.
For the sake of background: I’m a fairly recent college graduate living with a slew of hungry boys in a South Philadelphia rowhome. I work in advertising, which occasionally offers up the opportunity to dine out, but, for the most part, I’d rather be in the kitchen anyway. In Fall 2010, I went a little overboard and WWOOFed my way through farms in France and Spain, harvesting pomegranates, baking almond frangipane and becoming fairly passionate about eating fresh food in large quantities. The D.I.Y. projects I’m most excited for are largely inspired by the self-sufficiency gleaned from these travels.
I love peanut butter, brunch, and the dough hooks on my KitchenAid. The wicker baskets lining our counters are always towering with a kaleidoscopic mess of fresh produce and I have made it a personal goal of mine to never let the fridge empty of milk (see: hungry boys.) I’m a little bit of a health nut, but I go through bags of sugar like it’s my job (which I wish it was.) I will try anything once, but I will never like Marmite or Asian food. Dessert is imperative.
I’m certainly no gourmand and have no intentions of ever becoming one. Having really only spent the past year completely fixated by food and food culture, this blog serves more as a diary of my impending food ventures than it does as any type of authority on gastronomy.
Here’s to hoping I don’t burn the crust!