I came up with A Food of Love Thing thinking about some way to kill time. I needed a hobby. What better hobby is there than blogging? You don't need much else except a computer, an Internet connection and some way to mash the keys to form words (ok, well maybe not so much the last one).
When trying to come up with a title, I asked my husband, John. We bounced some ideas off of each other and I kept going back to a discussion we had a couple of days before. I was watching a rerun of Emeril Live, and John (who readily admits to not really caring too much about food in general) asked me why it is that everyone in the audience sounds like they're having an orgasm when they talk about garlic or wine or pork fat. I told him a phrase I had heard Mr. Lagasse say a few times...it's a food of love thing. He thought it was a dumb name for a blog. Me, being the devoted and understanding wife that I am, thought his face was dumb. We're a mature couple like that.
Growing up, my family and I adored food. My dad loves anything that comes from a pig, my mom would sacrifice a virgin for cheese and my brother and I settled in with a wonderful appreciation and love for pasta, steak and anything and everything that is decadent. My husband was really the first person that taught me that not everyone has the same feelings about food.
While we traveled in Italy in 2009, I became addicted to the Florentine cuisine. Pasta, bread, garlic, butter, cheese, olive oil...I. Was. In. Heaven. I had a religious experience with an eggplant parmesan in a little trattoria behind our hotel that changed my perspective on Italian food. John, well, he was bored in Florence and decided Venice was his favorite, not because of the food, but because it was "different" (how boring).
So, I will someday come over the shock that I had married someone who doesn't understand why I pay $10 for the "good olive oil." Until then, I will try my best to convert my loved one into someone who understands why buying fresh spinach, and not canned, is just better. Why buying produce tomatoes in winter is ridiculous. Why paying that extra $3 for olive oil makes a difference in the salad dressing I'll make tonight. He's a tough nut to crack, but I think I can get him there. It's a food of love thing.
This blog won't have a direct focus on restaurants, or cooking, or locally grown sustainable produce, or kitchen gadgets, or travelling, or my attempt to convert my husband into someone that becomes weak in the knees at the sight of slow roasted meat that falls apart when you touch it. Instead, it will be about all of those things and more (I'll probably write a lot about my dogs as well). I'm not a trained cook, I've never written a column about a restaurant for the local paper, and I even fail miserably at growing herbs on my back deck. I'm just a chick that loves anything and everything that is food...well, except for cooked salmon, but we'll get to that later.
