So last night someone asked me, “What is it with you and this food thing?”
I. Love. Food.
I love it so much, in fact, I’m interrupting this post to scour the internet for a good butterhorn recipe. BRB.
Where was I? Oh yeah, I love food. I love making food, I love eating food. Beautiful food, delicious food. A perfect meal is one of the few things in life that can be repeatedly duplicated and never disappoints. I love cinnamon rolls and I never get tired of eating them. Every time I eat a cinnamon roll, it’s glorious. Can I say that about any other non-food experience? Nope.
So speaking of legendary non-food experiences, my birthday was a bit ago. Unlike past years I didn’t announce it to everyone I know weeks ahead of time; there was no very loud and obvious birthday countdown. The presents at first looked quite sparse but then I opened the boxes…
Glorious, glorious, beautiful recipes.
And the equipment/ingredients to make them (since, y’know, I live in the middle of nowhere and certain ingredients aren’t always findable around here).
If I were the crying type, I would have cried. I got the best gifts ever from people who (apparently) know me best. Great food is an expression of affection (in my world, anyway). My mom guards her recipes with her life; in the rare event she “gives” you a recipe, chances are it’s missing a certain key ingredient or maybe the measurements aren’t quite right. This is a trait inherited from her mother, who was actually in the restaurant biz.
My friends gave me their recipes for my birthday.
Thank you thank you thank you.