keeping it short is not my forte.

Here we go with round two: I’m next to my heater, got some grapes and water, and am rockin’ to The Rolling Stones so I’m officially prepared to hash out the rest of my mom’s VERY EXTENSIVE survey… Now, without further adieu, on to question four:
1. Wow, she started off just like me it seems: the only difference was that she was twelve and I am practically an adult (18), how sad. And of course, here comes the Sweden House story. How many times I’ve heard it, I couldn’t tell you, but I can say it’s been ten too many. My mother doesn’t seem to notice that it loses its hilarity after the 25th time. I appreciate it none the less, and it definitely covers her first experiences with cooking. Her incident there somewhat reminds me of my own restaurant experience. Last year I started working at Little Italy, an Italian restaurant downtown. I worked as a hostess and a carryout girl (they had a shop on the side of the restaurant that served the takeout). The job was cool and so were the people (mostly college students who were awesome and nice), it was such a shame when it caught fire…but I digress. The first month or two, I wasn’t expected to help cook anything, but as time went on and I became more comfortable, they asked me to help make things. This terrified me to no end. I did NOT want an upset customer yelling at me for my questionable contribution. Alas, the cook finally roped me into helping make the tiramisu and cannoli cream. I, of course, made a complete mess, but he was patient and in the end the desserts turned out pretty darn delicious, if I do say so myself. Of course, right after I gained this new confidence, Little Italy caught fire. So there went that opportunity…it couldn’t have been an omen, could it?
2. I don’t really know what I was trying to ask with this question. Now that I look back on it, it seems a little too opened. Never the less, my mom answered awesomely, like I knew she would. I always wondered where people find their recipes. I mean, I am aware of cook books, I’m not an idiot, I just didn’t understand how someone could look through cookbooks and fine a meal. Okay, that didn’t come out right either…What I’m trying to say, I suppose, is that I don’t see how people have the patience to do it, or the interest. I don’t know about you, but choosing between a chicken cooked in something lemony and a chicken cooked in a flaky sauce just doesn’t do it for me. Just give me chicken and I’m happy.
My mom goes on to describe a very specific meal, which coincidentally, we had a couple weeks ago (it was scrumptious).
3. As I’ve delved deeper into cooking, I’ve come to realize that I’m the exact opposite of my mom when it comes to cooking vs. baking. I agree with her completely that bake is more precise, but that is exactly what I love about it. Having to measure exact amounts of ingredients and watching over my food obsessively is something I would do even if I weren’t baking, it’s just my personality. The necessity for preciseness in baking just fuels my OCD-like tendencies.
4. She says that she expresses herself through what and how she cooks. It makes sense: we are what we eat, so why can’t we be what we cook? Answer: we can. So according to my mom’s cooking, she is healthy, well-rounded and sweet with a bit of creative spice. Yum.
5. We got some cliché mom stuff going on down on her number eight, but what can I expect? She’s a mom, so she gave a mom’s perspective. It makes sense.
Man! That took another hour and a half and now my grapes are gone and I’m overheating. I’ll try to write another one tonight, but I’m tired so we’ll see…
Over and out
Lauren