My Epicurian Adventure

No one in my wide range of acquaintances would believe it now, but once upon a time, I used to love to cook. I would ask for special cooking devices for gifts and my graduation present was a full set of cookware and a Kitchen Aid mixer.

I had taken food classes throughout high school and in my senior year, participated in an actual once a week restaurant run by the home economics department. It was by reservation only and quite popular because we only charged for our expenses. We had surprise inspections by the health department and had to work at every station: head chef, sous chef, pastry chef, soup chef, floor manager and wait staff.

I was in my element and won the Kiwanis Award for Outstanding Student of the Year for Home Economics. I don't tell you this to brag (well, maybe a little) but to illustrate the heights from which I have fallen. Because of my award, I was able to intern with several chefs at top area restaurants. Inspired, I decided to attend the CIA (Culinary Institute of America - bet you didn't know there were two CIAs in America!)

After I graduated from high school, I got my first job as a sous chef in a local restaurant. It was six long months of bickering family employees, being woken up at 4:30 in the morning with phone calls after they had another fight and fired the cook again, and having to take orders, cook, waitress and clean all by myself all morning long until I despised everything about my job, except the actual customers.

I did learn to make a mean omelete, but the damage was permanent. What finished me off was marrying a man who doesn't like anything but meat and potatoes and pizza, and having children who take after their dad. Once my children were old enough to have an opinion, my efforts in the kitchen were rewarded with requests for a sandwich or corndog instead. I eventually gave up hope and became one of them. Thus, my poor family is privy to a well kept secret: I am now a horrible cook.

Years of kitchen avoidance have taken their toll and it's a big deal in my household when there is a homecooked meal with several sides on the table. I am making a slow comeback, but will never get back to where I was. I take comfort in the fact that my cousin Mark did go to the CIA and has traveled to France and New Zealand as a top chef. More power to him!

The moral of this story is never work for a family owned restaurant, and ignore your children and cook what you want and make them eat it. And if anyone ever wants to learn how to make a mean omelete..............