It’s not that I was opposed to trying new things, but as a child, I was undoubtedly a creature of comfort. In elementary school, breakfast was cereal or strawberry Pop-Tarts (the kind without frosting). In high school, it was Eggos with butter and powdered sugar or a bagel to which I expertly applied half a block of cream cheese. There was, and still is, always juice.
My needs were, and I think still are, pretty simple when it comes to food. I believe it is my definition of “simple” that has changed.
In my youth, a “salad” was a bowl of sliced cucumbers topped with Catalina dressing. If I was feeling adventurous, I might have requested tomatoes be added into the mix or maybe even Bac-O’s. As an adult foodie, “salad” can mean anything from mozzarella, tomato and basil drizzled with Balsamic vinegar, to spinach with candied nuts, strawberries and chevre, to mesclun greens with nuts, fruit, avocado and a shake of olive oil and red wine vinegar. My palate has grown to crave textures as well as flavors.
Food has had such a profound impression on me. My memories of entire events are enhanced based on the menu. The party marked by undercooked (read: basically raw) chicken. The first time I dined alone with a friend and the devilishly cheesy chicken chimichanga I ordered. The fresh mango and pineapple I consumed in mass quantities from the buffet at the all-inclusive in the Dominican Republic. Due to digestive revolt, I eventually had to put the brakes on that area of the buffet. The extremely difficult (and nearly dangerous) mountain biking excursion my husband and I took, punctuated by a meatball sandwich from Subway. I wouldn’t typically seek out that particular sandwich, but in the moment, it comforted me nearly to the point of tears.
I remember, almost eerily, the way my Nana & Papap’s house smelled when spaghetti and homemade meatballs were being made—especially for me, most times. I remember the aroma of a Funfetti cake mix filling my house when my brother and I had birthdays to celebrate. I was spoiled for years for anyone else’s pancakes, thanks to the light and buttery way my mom made hers. I was into early adulthood before I would order pancakes in a restaurant.
There are definitive food eras in my life, and being a real, actual grown-up, mom and wife has propelled me into, I feel, the best one yet. I have (mostly) no fear of trying new things, although I still refuse to eat anything raw.
I love exposing my daughter to new foods. I love baking and cooking for my family, and, when appropriate, getting help from the little hands I have at my disposal. I now see food as yet another creative outlet in my life. I like opening the fridge and the pantry and seeing what I can “throw in” to a dish I’m preparing. I enjoy hoarding, and sometimes even making, recipes I pin on Pinterest. I have an insatiable sweet tooth which is a hold-out from my pregnancy four years ago that I still don’t mind indulging. Yes, I post lots of pictures of my food to Instagram. I like to take pictures of things that inspire me, and food does that. Food is art…visual, textural and sensorily-provocative art.
My advice? Don’t ever get yourself caught in a food rut. There’s a lot of stuff to eat in the world and it’s not going to eat itself. Try something new. Let yourself enjoy something you previously dismissed. Life is short. Eat food that you like. And if someone questions you, just make your next bite that much bigger.
- Maggie Mitchell: The Kid Years photos: Julie Farber (her mother)
