Patience Makes Perfect

Amish Friendship Bread is probably one of the easiest, and most delicious, bread recipes to bake. Delicious not only because of the sweetness and spices that go into it, but also because of the care and patience that require the recipe to work.

Made with simple ingredients and even simpler instructions, friendship bread is a simple way to tell someone you love them, tell them you care, or tell them you were thinking about them. The recipe makes “starters” for the baker to give away to friends, hence the name of the bread. It is very easy to make small, tasty samples and then give the starters to friends and family so they may taste the amazing bread and continue the chain of friendship.

Just before my graduation from high school, my mother received a starter kit for Friendship Bread, along with a note, from one of her good friends. Being too busy at the time to make the bread (ironically enough) I decided I would make it for her. I read the instructions and followed them each day: smoosh the bag, add milk and sugar, squish the bag, no metal spoons or bowls, do not refrigerate. After reading the instructions, I started on the note. It was a page-long, hand written note from the heart. My mother’s friend was reminding my mom of the patience it took to raise me, to help me through school, and to help me with the transition from high school to college. The note finished by saying to remember this patience when making the bread, and to let the few minutes of taking care of the batter each day remind her of the times she had to be diligent and patient with me. I know this note was meant for mother, but reading it brought hot tears to my eyes. I couldn’t help but remember all the times my mom had been there for me: had held me hand, stayed up late to help me finish a project, drive me to school after missing the bus. I’m sure none of these things were on the top of her to-do list but she did them anyway. She has always been there for me.

So as I was making the bread I remembered all the times my mom had been patient with me even if I hadn’t been completely patient with her. Times we had fought over something stupid such as not getting to hang out with a friend or not being able to buy the latest color of Converse. Her begging me to do homework and not wait until the last minute to get projects done. Me begging her to let me stay up late to watch TV or let me go to the mall with friends. We both did things the other did not appreciate but somehow we managed to solve our problems and learn to deal. Learning patience is something I have definitely learned from my mom.

She has taught me that patience requires work. You can’t just go along for the ride and hope everything turns out. No, you have to add your own special touches and put time and energy into the creation to make something worthwhile.

The Friendship Bread is a reflection of this philosophy. Patience and diligence are two key ingredients to making the bread a success. It must be tended to every day, whether that be adding the simple ingredients or smooshing the sweet, gooey batter in the plastic bag. It takes less than ten minutes a day to follow the instructions but it is crucial and necessary to make the recipe work. If not, the whole thing falls apart. Same as with any relationship. If you don’t give it your all and put forth the best effort possible it will crumble to pieces and you won’t have anything left.

However the worst part of making friendship bread is having to wait the ten days to finally bake the loaf. It is a tantalizing tease. Every time you open the plastic bag to add ingredients you get a whiff of the fermenting batter, and although it has a slightly nauseous smell, somehow it also smells extremely sweet and mouthwatering. When adding the final amounts of sugar and milk, just before baking, you can’t help but sneak a taste, and the richness of the batter almost knocks you off your feet. One tiny spoonful is enough to satisfy any sweet tooth.

As for making it your own, many people add dried fruit or nuts. Many people also lightly sprinkle the inside of the baking pan and the top of loaf with cinnamon sugar to give it that extra sweetness factor. Sugar on top of sugar. What could be better?

After the bread is in the oven and you have been smelling incredible, delectable odors for the past hour, it’s time to open the oven door and find out what you’ve created. You’ll get what you’ve put into it: either a scrumptious loaf of sugary, sweet bread or a lumpy, caved-in, mound of baked dough. The former comes from following the directions carefully and dedicating time each day to the recipe, and the latter comes from following the directions every once in a while and only when you feel like it.

If something requires patience and dedication you can’t choose when and if you commit to those qualities. They have to be there from start to finish or else the end result will never come out as planned. Would you rather have delicious bread you have to force yourself to stop eating or bread that you take one bite of and throw the rest of the loaf into the waiting wastebasket? Would you rather have a meaningful, long-lasting relationship or an unsteady one where the other person is never there for you?

It may sound strange to be relating a relationship of any sort, mother-daughter, boyfriend-girlfriend, husband-wife, to a recipe for bread, but the same “ingredients” apply. Diligence, hard work, dedication, and most of all....patience.

Photographs:

Morgan Moore, photographer. “IMG_3393”. Photograph. 2009. From One More Moore. http://morganmoore.typepad.com/one_more_moore/2009/02/amish-friendship-bread.html (accessed September 1, 2009)

King Arthur Flour Company, Inc. Photograph. 2009. From King Arthur Flour Company, Inc. http://www.kingarthurflour.com/shop/images/1226609672969.jpg (accessed September 1, 2009)

Value of Food(HW#1)

Walking out from the plane, dragging my body which has been on a plane seat for 14 hours, I stayed as close I can to my mother, whose back seemed ever big. Every step at a time came to me as a shock, as people of different races passed by me. All the gibberish that was written on the wall and the signs and crawled through my ear startled me at every corner. Waiting to step out of the world that would soon change my life forever, the only thing that I could think of was how desperately I wanted to eat a meal of Korean food. Coming from Korea as a thirteen-year old kid, it was a constant struggle every day just to spend another day in a foreign country where the culture and the language were unknown and unfamiliar to me. One of many things that helped me to adjust to this new world was food. Food, as insignificant it may seem to one’s adaptation, played a big role as it helped to get through hard times and find self-identity.

My mother was and still is a great cook. She has always tried to come up with new recipes and cook good food to us. I cannot remember a time when I complained about not having a good meal. When I first came to Canada, every day brought enormous stress and despair. Finding myself in a room full of strangers with different race than mine and unable to express myself were challenging experiences. I remember one time when I was playing basketball with some of my classmates during lunch recess when I got into trouble that I had no part into because I was not able to express myself. Paul, who was always a hyper and excited kid, shot the ball at the basket and the ball hit the edge of the rim. When the ball bounced back, it hit Paul directly in the face and he was in tears in no time. A supervisor on the field came, with predetermined thought that I had hit Paul with the ball, scolding me. Paul, who was already in much pain, found no peace of mind to explain to the supervisor what had actually happened, which I understood. What I was not able to understand was how biased the supervisor was who already determined that I was the cause of Paul’s pain. I tried my best with few mouth-mumbling words to explain to her the actual account of what had happened. To no avail, the supervisor, who already embarrassed my in front of all the kids at the field with her loud scolding, gave me an afternoon detention. Although Paul later explained everything and I got out of the detention, it took a toll on me emotionally. When I came home, my mom had cooked me a spicy beef soup with steamy white rice. The smell of the soup turned my dry mouth watery. As I enjoyed the soup, the memories of my father and I eating the same kind of soup together after a nice bath came rushing back. One particular event seemed to stick to my head. On my last time with my father, we were enjoying spicy beef soup at the restaurant at the airport while my mom and sisters went around shopping. As we were eating, my father looked straight into my eyes and said “I am sorry I have to put you this, but I and your mother are sacrificing our marriage and lives to give you guys better education. I know things can be difficult for you at first and many times after. However remember that your mom and sisters are there for you and I will always be here waiting for your call. Be strong.” After that flashback, I kept what my dad had said to me to my heart and remembered it whenever I was troubled. Whenever I ate Korean food that our family had enjoyed together, I was reminded of why I had come here and the fact that my family will always be there to support me.

As I adjusted myself to life in Canada and U.S., I sometimes found myself confused on my self-identity. Moving through different countries over the span of few years, I did not have adequate time to truly assess myself as a person and where I belong. I had seriously doubted myself as where if I was a Korean, Canadian or American. In which ever group I tried to fit in, I couldn’t feel the sense of belonging and who I was. Living in different countries, I have come in contact with rich variety of food which was imbedded within the multicultural societies of Canada and American. I came to appreciate the richness of what other cultures had to offer. For instance, many of my friends have introduced me to their own ethnic food such as Curry, Pho(Vietnamese rice noodle), Poutine(French style Fries),etc. I never have had any preference over which food of certain cultures was better. I took the variety of food itself as just the part of the largely multicultural society in which I lived. This experience have made me realize that I do not have feel like I belong to a specific group or a nation, but just to accept those groups just as they are and see myself as an independent member of the society in which I live in, regardless of where I live.

Food can be just a food. Depending on how you think of and what importance or significance food plays in your life, food can be a vital part of you. For me, food was more than just a food. Food is necessary for your survival, but it also helps to connect to yourself and those memories imbedded with particular food. Food can help you through difficult times just as it has for me. Food is not just for your stomach, but also for your soul and mind.

Pictures:

"Spicy beef soup" . Photograph. (n.d.) from blog.joins.com.

http://blog.joins.com/media/folderListSlide.asp?uid=bsb2001&folder=1&list_id=5145329(accesed September 03, 2009)

"Vietnamese beef noodle - Phở". Photograph. (n.d.) from en.wikeiedia.org

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Pho-Beef-Noodles-2008.jpg (accesed Septemeber 03, 2009)

"Poutine". Photograph (n.d.) from culinspiration.wordpress.com

http://culinspiration.wordpress.com/2009/05/03/100-foods-to-try-before-you-die/ (accesed September 03, 2009)

"Curry". Photograph. (n.d.) from sailusfood.com

http://www.sailusfood.com/2006/06/07/spicy-chicken-masala-curry/ (accesed September 03, 2009)

Taco Salad: The Essential elements (Blog #1)

My mother’s Taco salad and its various ingredients uniquely represent the different aspects of my life. The ingredients include: crisp lettuce, tasty beef, zesty taco seasoning, crunched Fritos, shredded cheese, and diced tomatoes. The proper balance of these ingredients is crucial in order to maintain a healthy and proper lifestyle. All of the various elements of taco salad combine to create the most delicious, mouth-watering entrée in existence. Similarly, the proper application of corresponding life aspects generate the perfect living condition.

The first and possibly most important ingredient is the beef. The beef is what provides substance and gives the meal true meaning. It gives you all the protein you need for your body to grow big and strong. The beef represents Georgia Tech in my life. It gives me a purpose, a hope, and a future. Georgia Tech keeps me sturdy and motivates me toward imminent goals. Without the beefiness of the Georgia Tech Yellow Jackets and our beloved mascot Buzz, my life would lack momentum and direction.

Lettuce represents health in my life. It is the crispy, clean greens keep me moving and grooving. The lettuce must be important because it makes up the second part of the entrée’s name (salad). You cannot simply gorge yourself on tacos and expect no consequence in return. The lettuce rejuvenates, replenishes, and restores. Running, working out, and sports are all essential to my own well being, mentally and physically. The green aspect of my life is and will remain a crucial ingredient to my health.

The taco seasoning is what gives the taco salad its zest and its kick. Without the seasoning, the meal would be bland and lifeless. My taco seasoning is humor. The kick in the old funny bone is one of most important and most gratifying aspects of my life. It distracts me from the stress of everyday life and flavors the beef (Georgia Tech) in a positive light. My friends and I rely on dry, witty humor because it always makes our days a little bit brighter. Everybody needs a good laugh every once and a while. Zesty taco seasoning is one thing that my life could not do without.

The next ingredient to the taco salad is the salty and crunchy Fritos. The Fritos represent the tough times in my life where perseverance and determination are required to make it through. They are that element that no one person can avoid and no person should deny. You must face your trials, crunch through them, and learn from them. Although they are not a complete crowd pleaser, the Fritos are an essential element to the taco salad of life that shapes and builds personality. The crunch is what has made me who I am today and influences who I will be tomorrow.

Cheese is the ingredient that everybody knows is unhealthy, but they love it nonetheless. Cheese is the fun in life. It gives the taco salad that “yum in your tum tum” feeling like ice cream with a cherry on top. Although it will usually come back to bite you, fun is the most awesome element of my life by far. Playing sports, jammin’ on the drums, listening to music, laughing with friends, and playing video games are just some of the cheesy aspects to my fun filled existence. You have to be careful though when it comes to the cheese because too much fun can hurt the other aspects of the taco salad life if you are not careful. If you organize your personal aspects correctly and prioritize your time, fun will be one of the things in life that creates memories and generates happiness.

The final, but surely not least important, ingredient in taco salad is red, diced tomatoes. Their unceasing juiciness and amazing flavor take me back to the summer time and remind me of rest and relaxation. Relaxation is essential because it gives you a grace period where your body and mind can regenerate. It takes all of the other essential elements of life and brings them to a stand still. The fun, the stress, the work all stop and give you a momentary peace. I picture myself on a beach in a hammock, and then I look over and see a beautiful red tomato growing on a coconut tree. The tomato does this same thing for the salad. Your tastes buds just kick off their shoes, sit back in their reclining chairs, and say, “ahhhh, this is the life!” The actual reason behind this apparent result may pertain to the fact that tomatoes are made up of 93 to 95 percent water (I input this random fact to express that water is refreshing). Everybody needs that moment where they relax, forget about all their worries that have been building up in the back of their mind, and find a peaceful get away. The tomatoes in taco salad provide the escape your tongue needs for complete satisfaction.

My mom’s taco salad is much more than just food. Not only does it taste extremely good, but it also explains the aspects of my life that are most important. But this simple explanation of the ingredients’ does not suffice. The knowledge of the proper application of ingredient amount is of even greater consequence. The proper balance of additives is what takes a normal meal and morphs it into an extraordinary one. The amount per ingredient is primarily dependent upon the quantity of beef the cook uses. Similar to the proper balance of ingredients in taco salad, is the proper balance of the aspects of life. You have to make sure that hard work, fun, and relaxation are evenly distributed so that nothing tips the scales of life. We, the cooks, are in full control of every aspect of the delicious meal of life.

A great man named Forest Gump once said, “Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re gunna get.” Well I say, “Life is like a taco salad, balanced and scrumptious!”

Picture: Photobucket. . by Amysmithr. accessed 9/3/09

Flashback : Memoirs of my Culinary Experience (HW 1)

Food is an important part of a person's life. In its basest form it is something that is needed by a human being to survive. But with increase of logical capabilities of human being’s brains, man has learned a valuable lesson. Food can help in different ways. It’s useful in maintaining mental balance, it helps in spiritual upliftment and mostly helps in keeping your body healthy. Once he learnt that he started experimentation with food. A spice here, a certain flavour there has a different kind of effect on different people. A person's mood can be affected not only by the taste but also by the aroma that emanates while its being cooked. A simple example can be the aroma of durian. Its pungent aroma can cause a headache to some but may initiate a sense of heavenly peace in others. Food has this kind of power which is beyond doubt. Ancient history is abundant with examples of tribes, clans, kingdoms and empires reaching to agreements just because the food served on the truce table was lip-smacking.

Coming to how food has played a vital importance in my life. Explaining this can get very difficult. My relation with food has never been easy. My father since his child-hood has been an extremely hard-working man. Food for him is just something that needs to be ingested to keep on surviving. A dinner according to him was no sacred ritual like it seems to be in other houses. It was a 10 minutes affair, and if this time limit was exceeded it was a waste of time. If needed he could survive on meals consisting of fruits three times a day. This habit must stem from the fact that he lived alone for a year or two during his high school years since his father ( my grandfather) was required in Iran being the chief-engineer for the Iran-India oil pipeline project. So with his parents so far away, an elder brother in college and a younger brother, food seemed to be the least important thing in the days itinerary.

Now to explain how my father’s eating habits have affected my gastronomic experience. Being the head of the family and certainly my role-model and guide I tend to follow in his footsteps. One thing that was instilled in me since my formative years by keenly observing my father was that “food was only for nutrition.” This indirectly pointed to the fact that if the food article I was eating tasted good, it more or less meant that it was not nutritious. Fruits were an omni-present feature in all three meals of the day. And the fact that we are North-Indians our choice of healthy foods was abundant. Food had a monotonous tone to it. Lunch and dinner consisted of a bowl of pulses, two chappattis ( three if you were really hungry ), three big spoons of vegetables, and a bowl of home-made curd or yoghurt. Probably the most filling and nutritious meal that can ever be found on the surface of the earth. Not that there was no variety. In a single week we never had the same type of pulse twice. There was a different type vegetable dish everyday. Food was cooked in extra-virgin olive oil. Not more than one table-spoon of oil in a single dish. This kind of lifestyle was something you would find in a Army boot-camp. But it was followed religiously by our three member family for several years. There wasn’t anything I was missing either, since this was all I had ever know.

In my rambling memoirs I forget to mention about one-person who is the closest person to my heart. This person is undoubtedly my maternal grandmother, or in our Indianized terms my “Nani.” She lived in another city, in Bombay. A visit to her house during the vacations was the only thing that got me through 220 working days of school. Though now even my exceptional memory is failing me, I only have faint memories of her cooking, but one thing I distinctly remember is her “grilled chicken with white gravy”, something even God in all his glory must have not tasted. Though my Nani doesn’t cook much now-a-days, her food is something I will cherish in my memories forever. It was in these summer and winter vacations I got my experience in fine-dining. Regular dinners in the best hotels in the world, a sampling of my Nani’s cooking, and an infrequent visit to Candies, a high end fast-food joint was the extent of my culinary experience.

Looking back I can safely say that I had the best of both worlds. A strict, nutritious diet thanks to my father’s unintentional habits, and a rich experience during my vacations. Even today my affinity to fast food joints like Mcdonalds and KFC is limited to a Diet Coke and more recently the Coke Zero. I would like to end my article with a polite thanks to my family, especially my father and grandparents for instilling in me the habit of a balanced meal and the ability to appreciate good food.

Blog HW#1

Artur Satayev

          Our individual lives are clusters of unique realities given to us by virtue of God, Parents, and Fate. We seldom stop to think about the singularity and importance of each moment amidst the daily chores of our fast-paced life that forces us to be in a state of constant motion and pursue creative growth. Yet whenever we chance to find some spare time on our hands, we indulge in pleasant reminiscences or go for active recreation that provides an inspirational and bonding experience for our next of kin. Since there are no two identical families in terms of habits, lifestyle, customs, atmosphere, and traditions, I would like to especially highlight the traditions of my own family.
          Mine is a Kazakh family, and the distinctive trait of my native people is hospitality. Proofs of this are Kazakh sayings: “A guest brings happiness in tow”, “All of us are guests to each other in this perishable world”. This being the case, we never miss an opportunity to lay an abundant dastarkhan (table, feast) for our own families.

Figure 1. Dastarkhan. Source: wikipedia.org

          When I am far away from my parents, in my mind’s eye I picture us cooking the traditional much-loved dish – As (pronounced “us”). The origins of As go back many centuries, and the dish even has a second jocular name Besbarmak (literally “five fingers”), since our nomadic ancestors considered it convenient to cook in field conditions (in caldrons on an open fire) and took the boiled meat with their hands, washing it down with aromatic sorpa (broth). Imagine this scenic picture: a mountain village relocating to a summer camp site in early spring; the steppe awash in flowers and tall lush grass; moonlight reflecting off white yurtas (tents); the break of dawn flooding the boundless expanses of the steppe with the first rays of sun; male elders, the Aqsaqals, seated at an abundant dastarkhan and unhurriedly relating the feats of batyr warriors of olden days, moving stories of passionate love, daring horsemen and charming ladies – and all of this splendor is surrounded with a poetic halo.
          Many a century has passed since those days, while As remains the king of our dastarkhan. This is the royal dish of the Kazakh cuisine, which stands out for its exceptional flavor, rich calories, and one-of-a-kind aroma.

          Everybody takes an active part in the process of cooking this dish at our home. Mother starts this rite at the kitchen. As any Kazakh woman who is the caretaker of the “family hearth” and upholds the traditions of hospitality of its people, she always makes sure the fridge is stuffed with food so she would not be taken by surprise by any unplanned celebrations or unexpected guests.
          For our family of five, she buys 10 pounds of fine meat, or possibly less, allowing for the fact that guests may arrive without advance notice – such are the Kazakh customs. Back at home she seasons the meat with salt and pepper, leaves it for 4 hours to absorb the seasoning, and then places it in a pot with enough salted water to cover the meat. While being cooked on a slow fire, the meat remains soft and tender while becoming juicy and taking on a savory flavor. This flavor and Mother’s smile inspire us to join the cooking process immediately.
          Mother! A grand and holy being whose purpose is to give Life, bring Solace, and inspire Dreams. Her selfless, boundless, and unconditional love will always bring us back to the bright world of our childhood when we would return from school in blissful anticipation of a family dinner and especially As – this incredible dish that combines parental wisdom and children’s candor, which fills us with a sense of enthusiasm and comfort, freedom from concerns and worries, a rush of energy and optimism.
          Stepping through the doorway and catching a whiff of the unmistakable aroma, we all take part in the cooking of As with great pleasure. Kazakh customs consider preparation of food to be unworthy of males. This is why Father, as befits a real oriental host, performs the most honorable mission reserved for him – cutting the meat – only after the meat has been brought to the dining room. He distributes the tastiest pieces among us following a special ritual – the first piece goes to the wife, followed by daughters and then the son.
          Oriental customs aside, as a modern young man I lend a hand at peeling potatoes and onions. Mother and sisters roll thin unleavened dough consisting of slightly salted warm water (or broth), 2 eggs, and sieved flour. Sister Anelia puts potatoes in a separate small pot with pepper and spices, adds the nourishing broth, and puts it on a slow fire. After 15 minutes she adds onions cut up in rings and potherbs.
          Mother and sisters then serve the dish. They arrange incredibly delicious and tender sochnyas (scones rolled from unleavened dough and cut up into small pieces) boiled in the broth on a platter, cover the sochnyas with rich assorted meats, potatoes, green onions, herbs, and season all of this with tuzdyk sauce. The sorpa broth is served separately.
          Sister Aselia is serving As exuding an enticing aroma on a large platter.

Figure 2. Besbarmak. Source: forum.materinstvo.ru

          We eat As with relish, wash it down with the broth and listen to Father’s unhurried story. Father tells us about our direct ancestors, their acts worthy of great respect, emphasizing that everybody must know this, since Kazakhs believe that “Not knowing your ancestry seven generations back means being an orphan”.
          Father is invariably attentive; he is an excellent storyteller and a sensitive psychologist. He gives us wings, teaches us to dream and accomplish results.

          I thank my fate for having been blessed with motherly affection, fatherly care since my childhood and for the radiant glow of parental love that gave me wings. 
          I believe that my parents succeeded in filling the souls of their offspring with purity, light, and happiness, introducing us to all the lofty things that are otherwise unachievable. 
          When harmony rules in the family, one finds it much easier to grow wings needed to achieve creative pinnacles in any endeavor. For the source of all victories is the warmth of the family hearth, the strength of our roots, the love and support of our parents who bring all their children together around an abundant dastarkhan with the invariable powerful symbol of abundance – the delicious As. 
          I am pleased to note that in Kazakhstan, which is home to representatives of over 100 nationalities, the symbol of abundance, As, has become the most popular, most-loved and respected dish, an embellishment on the dastarkhans of all Kazakhs. 
          While treating their fellow countrymen to this wonderful dish, Kazakhs also shared the abundance of their soul with them. After all, abundance is not only richness in money terms, but also the ability to share your traditions, spiritual and material wealth, thereby bringing different peoples and continents together.

"Besbarmak." From materinstvo.ru

http://forum.materinstvo.ru/index.php?showtopic=435234

"Dastarkhan." From wikipedia.org

http://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/Бешбармак

Blog HW#1 Memorable Food

Michael Miller
Memorable Food

The last Thursday of every November contains many different memories for each person. Whether it involves being with their family around one big table or all the great food that slowly fades away from the plates. For me, the food and the football were the exciting highlights of Thanksgiving, but when I just say food that is an understatement to what I really mean. The tender turkey, the steaming hot stuffing containing many different ingredients, and the bright orange sweet potatoes with slightly burnt marshmallows on top are the types of food that rattle across my mind when I think of Thanksgiving. As I sit and ponder on not only the food but also the name of the holiday, I remember the meaning of Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving is not just a day to eat as much food as possible; it defines as a day of giving thanks to the things we hold dear in our lives. By that second definition, I realize how much that ties into my family during Thanksgiving. My brothers and I giving our sweet opinions on what we think of each other reminds me of just one little memory of giving thanks on the last Thursday of November. There is more to that great day that sticks in my head when I hear Thanksgiving. My mother, I thank her for the family that she has created and the wonderful dessert she uses to finish off the day. Dessert sends chills down my back when the word is recognized in my brain. Yes, all the great food that we eat before the end of the day gives happiness to my stomach, but dessert, the dessert that my mom makes is almost an unexplainable taste.




Piece of pumpkin pie with whip cream.
http://www.instructables.com/files/deriv/F53/1RIT/YX3EUPXQVMO/F531RITYX3EUPXQVMO.MEDIUM.jpg

Every Thanksgiving my mom creates the most delicious pumpkin pie that I have ever laid my taste buds on. For some reason, I always leave just enough room in my stomach for at least one whole pie. No matter how much turkey or stuffing I eat to make me full, I cannot resist the sweet, warm, buttery taste of my mom’s pumpkin pie. Many different secret ingredients go into the making of this pie, and somehow, either the art of my mom’s mixing or the amount of each individual ingredient traps my body into liking the pie. Do not get me wrong though; I do not like every pumpkin pie that I put in my mouth, only the pie that is crafted from my mother sends excitement to my stomach. Also, it is not like other foods in the sense that if I eat too much I will feel horrible after eating it, I can eat this pumpkin pie for days and never once will I feel sick. Although the taste is unsurpassable to my taste buds, the sight I receive from the pumpkin pie is also very convincing. The light brown color that layers the top of the pumpkin pie draws much attention to my eyes. The perfect circle created from the pie sheet has the crust extended just slightly above the outer pie sheet. As I glare at the well rounded piece of pie, one of many thoughts tends to be if it is even possible for a human being to say no to such a delicate food. Yes, the looks of the pie draws a lot of attention, but when the oven is slightly cracked open the aroma that comes off of the tip of the pie is considered the icing on the cake. Once the smell reaches my nostrils, I am guaranteed to have a piece of that pie and many more pieces after that. My nose calculates the scent of warm fresh baked pie, and I’m trapped into having a piece. After re thinking the beauty of the dessert for after Thanksgiving, I am in a state of need for my mother’s pumpkin pie.

Of course the taste, smell, and looks lour me into having a whole pie after a huge Thanksgiving meal, but the preeminent part of the whole dessert has yet to be mixed in with this pie. Once that perfectly sliced triangle of pie is placed on my side plate, I top the whole dessert off with the finest homemade whip cream I have ever tried. Even though the pie itself is perfect, the whip cream on top adds a whole new level of taste to the dessert. Not only on top though, I cover the whole pie with the freshly made whip cream, and I make sure there will be some whip cream left over to finish off with a few scoops.

Warm pumpkin pie plus rich whip cream equals a place in paradise when I consume this dessert after Thanksgiving. Although I am referring this meal to a dessert for after Thanksgiving, I sometimes have withdraws from the tremendous taste of pumpkin pie that I have to ask my mom to make the pie on certain weekends. Also, the pie is used as a great dessert in my family for other holidays such as: Christmas and Easter. One day when I was in fifth grade, my mom actually made enough pie for my whole class to each have a piece with some whip cream, and I can remember all the questions I received that day about how she makes it and if she could send the recipe to their family. The memorable dessert is a legend in my family and I will one day try to pass that great tradition down to my kids like my grandmother did for my mom. As easy as it is to hope and think that, I am not sure if I am capable of creating such a great peace of food like my mother has so well learned to do. The next time you decide to have a dessert to eat after Thanksgiving, just remember that I am sitting at my table with a warm buttery homemade pumpkin pie completely covered with white homemade whip cream, which in five minutes will completely be gone.

Oh Snap! Its a Ginger Snap!

Picture from http://whatscookingamerica.net/Cookie/GingersnapCookies.htm

Have you ever eaten a ginger snap? If you haven’t you’ve missed out on something wonderful. If you have, then you probably had a hard crunchy cookie with a very distinctive taste. Yet, there exist some amazing chefs that can create this wonderful little marvel in a new way. My aunt is one of those people. When I get my hands on those sugary cylinders of dough, I cannot control myself. I try to devour every last one of them.

My addiction for these cookies hit me the very first time I ate them. I slowly grabbed one and stuck a small piece of it in my young and picky mouth. As the bit slowly passed over my developing taste buds, I knew I would be hooked for life. Immediately, I wolfed down the rest of the cookie and attempted to go for the whole platter, but my mom saw and restrained me before I could get to the plate.

What makes these cookies different? For starters, they are not at all hard and crunchy. They are soft and squishy. When you let them sit on the table on top of one another they will meld together and form one massively over-sized cookie. Then, when you pick them up, they will crumble only slightly in effort to stay part of the humungous dough blob. The cookies themselves lack the strong burn that store bought ones supply but instead deliver a mix of sugar and ginger that will make a small kid want more. When the dough crosses your tongue it is not a solid crumb passing by but a delightfully freeform object that melds to your tongue as it slides to the back of your throat. There isn’t even a sound as you cut the morsel with your teeth.

Now about the recipe...I wish I had it. My aunt loves me and knows I adore her cookies, but, no matter how hard I pled, she will not give me the recipe. I may or may not get the recipe one day; it doesn’t really matter because the byproduct of this one recipe has comforted me throughout my life.