I want a girl, just like the girl, that married dear old dad.

Hello readers,

It might come as some surprise that the Hungry blog’s readership is somewhat limited. Although my national fan base has yet to develop, I am comforted by the fact that the readers I do have are loyal and supportive. Thus today I dedicate this entry to one of my most loyal and long-time enthusiasts, this one’s for you Mom.

Mothers everywhere are intimately connected to one’s culinary habits. From the embryonic fluid of the womb to the Thanksgiving turkey, our moms have been the source of life-giving nutrients from the moment of conception through adulthood. The warm nostalgia conveyed by the phrase “just like mother used to make” confirms the spiritual connection that every child feels toward the maternal victuals consumed and savored throughout childhood.

Sitting here with my brother Ben we are attempting to think back on the foods we remember fondly that our mother either made or introduced us to. Ben was remembering that when mom used to drop us off at piano lessons and go grocery shopping, many times when she picked us up there was a Lindt chocolate bar waiting to be divided amongst us. Another meal that we remember with misty eyes was her pork chops and rice, a meal that to this day has become symbolic as the peak comfort food in our lives. Mom is and was a baker, baking bread and chocolate chip cookies. I remember as a special treat my brother and I were each given a beater to lick off. I can still feel the tongue gymnastics involved in trying to wrap around that final hidden pocket of sweetness. But for me, mom’s highest art was the pie. As a child I never liked the gooey icing slathered over cakes, so for my birthday mom would make pie. Cherry, peach, strawberry rhubarb and lemon chess, oh you pies with your flaky crusts I’ve never quite managed to duplicate. Fruit pies you haunt my dreams. A ball of vanilla ice cream added to the side transformed it all to heaven by the forkful.

Most of our greatest fine dining experiences have also been planned and paid for by mom and dad. One family outing that we all regularly look back on was at a restaurant called Nisa La Bella on a family vacation in southern France. This multi-course meal was punctuated by the singing of the restaurant song. Traveling with mom and dad is always a gastronomic wonder. The many places we have tried are too numerous to list but will probably be examined in future posts. One of our favorite local restaurants is Sweet Basil in Vail. It takes very little coaxing to get mom to agree to eat out at Sweet Basil.



But Mom is not only responsible for what you eat, but how you eat. We will be forever grateful to our parents for their eating policies. When we were children the rule was that we didn’t have to eat anything we didn’t want to eat. We also weren’t forced to clean our plates, though we usually did. If we didn’t want to eat something, however, nothing special was ever made for us as a substitute. Thus our palates were linked to our stomachs at an early age. The other policy which probably saved me from jail was the rule that we all had to eat dinner together as a family. This was probably the golden rule and kept our family strong.



Nowadays, it there are fewer pleasures greater then getting together for family dinner in Georgetown. My parents eat better than anyone I know. After work and the dog walk the ritual is cocktails and cooking. They try new things and turn us on to many fantastic ideas. The wine flows freely and everyone goes to bed happy.

So thank you mom, for all you have done and continue to do for us, your two boys. And from us to you with hearts full of love; HAPPY MOTHERS DAY.