My initial inspiration for starting a blog was to keep track of and share my cooking experiences. I love cooking. I love the people in my life by feeding them. For me, home cooked food is an act of hospitality and gracious living. Cooking makes me happy. It makes me whole.
This is not to suggest that I’m some kind of expert. I’m not. I’m just an enthusiastic home cook, and this is an archive of my culinary life. It is a digital recipe box and a chronicle of the answer to my husband’s favorite question: “What’s for dinner?” And breakfast, lunch, snack, desert.
I’m not really one to throw a bunch of things together and see what happens, culinarily speaking. I do that sometimes, but not often. I love recipes. I cherish cookbooks. I hoard back issues of cooking magazines. I save episodes of cooking shows on my DVR. To me, cooking is a pleasure. Baking is therapy. And when it all goes according to plan, eating isn’t so bad either. And my husband does the dishes, which is a pretty good bargain.
Italians (or, in my case, Italian-Americans with various other kinds of ancestry mixed in) are well-documented foodies. Epicures. Gourmets. Buongusti. Cooking, eating, loving. It’s all the same to us.
As my Grandpa liked to say: “Mangia, mangia!”