Food

Growing up in an Italian household, food has always been important. My Mom cooked dinner almost every night, and on Sundays, my Grandma’s house was Of course, she had her go-to’s. Chicken cutlets. Pasta with sauce. Meatloaf. And when she would make fritata, my sister and I would boycott by playing dead on the kitchen floor and refusing to sit down to eat. The point is, from a young age, food mattered. But it wasn’t until I my twenties that I started to really explore other cuisines besides my native Italian. And it’s ironic, because Italians are in fact very cultured when it comes to food, so long as it’s their own. Most of the Italians I know don’t know shit about any other type of food. I guess that’s what happens when you have such a good foundation of cuisine to fall back on, there’s almost no time for any others. For me, I like to try as many different things from as many different cultures as I can, while drawing a line somewhere around Rocky Mountain Oysters. Recently, I’ve gotten into more obscure Mexican, Argentinian, Thai.