Middle East, Your Own Feast

There are some days that just don’t blend. My memory is like a treasure trove of places and people and things, those that help me conjure up each post; each memory, while different in feel, has a similar undercurrent: individuality and food. The year was 1994. My parent’s best friends owned a a local pharmacy in…

Curtailing Cooking

I always had “major anxiety” (and lets be honest, was a bit jealous) from those particular people who could fly by the seat of their pants, never organize anything in advance, never pre-plan, and yet somehow end up with perfect results, or without any consequence to their malaise. But, as I got older in life,…

Self Control… Over Yourself

The anger was building up to an insurmountable peak; I couldn’t withstand the internal pain any longer. And so, with all of my might, I hurled my hairbrush against my powder pink walls. It left, let’s just say, a noticeable hole that my mother began screaming at me about, not knowing that the cause of…

Salad City

The options were intolerable. Few in number were the days of Sloppy Joes and overcooked, sticky, yet surprisingly delicious mac-and-cheese; frozen turkey sandwiches and brownish-greyish hamburgers were only some of the choices of “slop” that mimicked food we were given that summer. For most pre-teen girls, summer camp was a period of time that housed…