What I Learned From My Parents

      My upbringing is not what most would call conventional. I grew up on a 7 acre farm (a hobby farm, but still a farm). I was home schooled with 3 brothers and a sister. I spent summer days in the garden, weeding, watering, and harvesting. I HATED it! Whenever my mom would mention that the green beans were almost ready for picking, I faked every viable option for illness. My mom still likes to tell the story of how I would "accidentally" pull entire green bean plants out while I was weeding so that I would have one less instrument of torture awaiting me in mid-July. I was only slightly less opposed to the hours of washing, freezing, and canning our produce. I thought that I would forever cringe at the word 'shucking'. While most kids were at the pools swimming, I was swimming in homemade salsa up to my elbows. I milked goats, fed pigs, sheared sheep, spread manure, gathered eggs, fought off roosters, and extracted honey. All the while, I was sure my parents were just lying in bed at night conjuring up new ways to make me sweat. But I found that what they really conjured up was my passion for food. At some point the chores made me curious, curiosity turned into knowledge, and the knowledge quickly became passion. My love for food literally grew from the soil in my parents yard. I saw how differences in the weather changes the taste of certain vegetables. I tasted how the seasons affected the sweetness of honey. I saw how the happiness and well-being of a hen changed the size and flavor of an egg. In the same way, I also saw how good food changed the entire atmosphere of the house. As soon as my mom would begin preparing dinner, all seven members of the family would gather in the kitchen and listen to music and laugh and talk. I witnessed first-hand how the dinner table became a sanctuary when the whole family was excited to sit down and eat. During the day the table was a school desk, a lecture hall, and a podium. But come dinner time, a different and more important kind of learning took place. We learned how to communicate, how to properly crack a joke, and how to eat well.
     As much as I loved gardening, cooking, and eating growing up, I was under the impression that unless I was planning on living in a little house on the prairie, I was going to have to come up with a more viable career option. I went to a vocational high school where I studied engineering and drafting. I took a semester of teaching courses my first year in college. I then took only general education classes, thinking that something would pique my interest. During my first quarter of Spanish at Ohio State, my professor announced that he would be teaching a Hispanic Gastronomy honors course. I thought it would look good on my transcript and it would be a nice break from the mundane classroom routine. It did accomplish those things, but what I gained most from it was the knowledge that people actually did make money from cooking! Each night, a professional chef would bring us a dish and explain the importance of the it and how it impacted their career choice. After that quarter, I transferred to Johnson & Wales University in Charlotte, NC. There, I was able to learn the more technical side of cooking. That technical experience was the last block needed in building my love for food.
     I learned that cooking is an art as well as a science, and when both sides are applied, food can be something that is appreciated by all people. Which brings me to this particular point in my life. I want to share how, although culinary school was an important piece of my love of food, what I learned from my parents and the home they built pushes me to be the best chef I can be. Although the technicality is what separates a chef from a cook, the passion is what translates food into all languages, races, and classes. It is my hope that my experience on the farm and at the table can bring the best of my family into the lives of people around the world.