I come from a long line of eaters.
My great grandfather had a dairy farm, and thus we are big cheese eaters, and butter eaters too and now that I think about it we’ve never really been shy around the cream either. My Grandfather was a great lover of good food. He once took my Grandmother on a European site seeing tour. Not of the major works of art or architecture as was the norm but by the stars. The Michelin Guide to Restaurant's, stars. My Grandmother loved food so much that sometimes she suffered an attachment disorder, leaving the left-overs in the fridge until they had taken on organic, scientific furs and colors. These moments caused my mother, in fear of all of our health, to slip them discreetly into the trash before we were forced to eat them at Sunday night dinner. Occasionally she was found out and we all waited as we knew that the ratatouille from two weeks before would make its way to the sideboard once more.
I've often thought that we were a family that marked moments by meals rather than holidays. My mom speaks endlessly to my father of recipes she has discovered and at breakfast begins the day long quest for the perfect dinner menu. Growing up I never fully understood how my mom could think of dinner while sipping her coffee at breakfast and yet now, I find myself taunting my husband in the wee hours of the morn with the same question that has greeted my dad almost every day for 40 years, "Honey, what do you feel like having for dinner?".
My brother and I, now adults and living far from one another, call almost daily and begin each conversation the same, “Hi, how are things?. So what are you making for dinner?” In fact, I believe that this very line of questioning has been the nucleolus of communication throughout our family for several generations. So when it came time for me to chose a partner in life, an eating companion, a recipe listener; it was perhaps by fate or destiny, that he would be this amazing man who was a professional Cook and aspiring Chef.
I knew that our life would be different from that of our friends, as the life of a Cook and his family is a tale unlike most others. However, even I, with my conjured up imagination could not have envisioned the crazy path our life has taken in only a few years. Somewhere between moving to France, so that my husband could cook under the watchful eye of one of the world's most acclaimed culinary gurus and watching a 4 foot rat scurry from the corner of a Vietnamese fish market, during my honeymoon, I decided to chronicle my life as a Cook's wife.