Why do I love food and all that comes along with it? I’ve asked myself this question countless times and I still don’t have a good answer. I think it has a lot to do with how I was raised. Food was always a crucial part of every celebration. Meals were meant to be shared with the family. My mom confessed to me that my dad made it clear to her early in their relationship that dinner was not just an act of feeding oneself. Rather it was a meal that was to be shared and the time spent together was not just for fueling the physical body but the family unit itself. Being adopted, I think my dad made some very clear decisions in his adult life to create the strongest family unit possible in attempt to salve the wound created by the knowledge of his adoption. Daily family dinners were his way of keeping us all connected and now in my adult life something that felt was a chore and almost punishment as a child is a very fond memory that I now greatly value and hope to mimic when I start my own family . Now couple my father’s strong views about dinner with my mother’s boundless talent for cooking and fearless attempts at new recipes and the end result is . . . . me.