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More About Me

Some of my earliest and fondest memories involve preparing and/or eating food.  I will never forget the week I spent with my grandmother one summer, planning a dinner party for “the girls” - a gaggle which included her sister, my great-aunt, and three bridge-partner friends. I loved to cook with my grandmother, aka Grog, and I couldn’t wait to prepare a feast for “the girls,” whom I had met many times before; they were like grandmothers to me, too.

I remember the dinner preparations took us the entire week.  The main course, a veal involtini, was a real effort of time and love, a multi-step process that included in and of itself, preparing the meat filling, making a balsamella (bechamel) and a red sauce.  I oversaw the finishing touches, choosing which color cloth napkins to pair with Grog’s fine China dishes, and deconstructing the grocery-store bouquet to place flowers all around the dining room.  A day ahead, the table was set, with napkins crisply ironed and silver perfectly polished.    

What a memorable night. I relished the ‘Oohs’ and ‘Ahhs’ from our gracious guests.  I loved the time we had spent planning and organizing, but nothing could have prepared me for the satisfaction of experiencing the joy of our dinner guests. I was hooked.  It’s been 30 years since that dinner party, and I still find fulfillment feeding those near and dear to me.  

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