Bon Appetit

Last night I was in need of an escape so I took myself to a movie. "Julie & Julia" was exactly what I needed - in far more ways than one.

First of all, I got to spend over two hours with Meryl (my true eternal companion), Stanley Tucci never fails to delight me (if you have not seen "The Impostors" you must - the first 15 minutes of he and Oliver Platt is freaking brilliant) and I got to stare at and fantasize about food - something I don't do nearly enough. Seriously, who needs porn when we have the Food Network?

My father was a gourmet chef. He worked at, and helped manage, Scott's Seafood in San Francisco when I was little. He was cuisinely talented, passionate and obsessed. I remember when Dole had a pineapple recipe contest we ate pineapple cakes, muffins, salads, curries... for weeks. We had homemade doughnuts and dumplings coming out our eyeballs. He either created his own culinary masterpieces or made already existing recipes far better than originally planned. When I spent the night at his apartment he would apologize to me for the leftovers then proceed to serve me something that made my taste buds explode and left me feeling like I needed to confess to my bishop.

I always thought that I would be like my dad. That I would be the kind of mom that made delicious and healthy meals from scratch. That my children would have a long list of favorite foods that their mom made. But then I didn't think that I would be raising children alone. And I had no idea then that cooking real, healthy food was so damn expensive. I thought my children would never eat hot dogs. Ha. With my money and time on the strictest of budgets and my energy spread so thin - my sweet kids eat far more microwaveable and thrown together food than I ever imagined possible.

And it breaks my heart.

I used to cook. I know how. It's in my blood. And I miss it terribly. Like singing. It is one of those things that has been hidden, lying dormant, in the depths of me and is screaming to have life breathed back into it.

Like most of my friends who saw "Julie & Julia" I feel inspired to break out the cookbooks and my mortar and pestle and get to work. But, unlike most of those same friends who made two or three dishes then gave up, I am reclaiming this as a part of my life. It ain't going to be easy - I am already doing the juggling act of the century. But it is important. Food is one of the great sensual joys of life that I am totally depriving myself and my children of. Such bullshit.

Baby steps. One amazing meal a week. Tonight, my dad's own chicken spaghetti recipe which is to die for. Or, better yet, to live for.

Let the fun begin.