Every year, when I came home from college for vacation, the first thing my mother did was take me to the grocery store. We would walk down the aisles talking about finals and our plans for Christmas, and pick out all of my favorite foods. She wanted the house to be stocked with the things that I wanted to eat. That was how she showed me she was happy I was home, and that she loved me.

Food is a Calendar

I think, since I am still in school, the year still starts for me in September. In September, I must eat apples. Sure, they are in season, but even more so, golden apples with blushing cheeks fit into crisping days and falling leaves. The pears in fall are tender and juicy, so I feel compelled to make pear tarts, and turnovers and salads. I cannot help myself. When October comes, I begin making soups--lentil, split pea and minestrone--and I start craving pumpkin pie. Halloween means carameled apples, powdered and plain donuts, and hot apple cider. In November, I actually make the pumpkin pie with gingerbread crust, along with apple pies with leaves and berries of dough baked onto the crust. As soon as December comes, I have to make magic bars from coconut and chocolate chips and graham crackers. I make dates with my friends to spend hours baking cookies made with butter and sugar and flour slathered in colored buttercream frosting. When I lived in Denmark, every single person I met made marzipan in shapes of fruits and vegetables and gave them to their holiday guests. We always have some sort of a fish chowder or bisque on Christmas Eve and ham on Christmas Day. I know that if I am eating salmon bisque, it must be December 24th. The cold months, January and February, involve a lot of oatmeal and hot cocoa, as they fill me up and keep me warm. And then spring begins, my birthday comes, and everyone I know takes me out to dinner. I get fancy food for a week! As the weather gets warmer, I start making kabobs out on the barbecue and mixing up my special chicken marinade. In the summer, I eat spinach salad and melons and yogurt and berries 'til I nearly burst. Once or twice a summer I make my mother's potato salad with mustard and black olives. Last summer, I finally made the jam, from the blackberries in my yard, I had been talking about for years. The summer before, I perfected pie crust from scratch. Then, just when I think I can't take any more heat and I don't want to eat a thing except watermelon, the days get shorter, cool breezes begin to blow, and the supermarket produce aisles fill with apples.

Food is a Challenge

I love to make food. I love the taste and the texture, the smell and sense of accomplishment I feel from making food. In one fell swoop I get to learn how to do something new (when I try a recipe I haven't tried before), I spend some time working with my hands, I express my creativity, I express my love for those I am cooking for, and I fulfill their basic need for food. Baking and cooking and concocting food has been a wonderful hobby for me. I have learned to be patient and wait for things to boil and thicken and cook down. I have learned that quality is imperative, fresh food gives color and taste and texture and delight unimaginable. And I have learned that while I seem to have a wonderful relationship with food, it is also unhealthy.

So, now at the age of 27, I am attempting to re-teach myself how to eat, and how to prepare food. I inherited my sweet-tooth from my grandmother, who once had to go to the hospital for eating too many M&Ms in one sitting. (It is the truth, I swear.) I have never had a problem with overeating chips 'n dip. Chocolate chip cookies, brioche, and pot de creme have been my downfall. The cheeses of the world have also helped get me in the shape I see before me in the mirror each day. My food challenge now is not to perfect the souffle, but to learn how to create healthy food I want to eat. I am learning what is hunger and what is boredom. I am beginning to see the differences in my body and my mind. I no longer mindlessly shove food into my mouth just because it lies in front of me. I think about the consequences of that food. This is more challenging than any difficult recipe I have ever attempted.

Wish me luck.