I've been holding a little secret under my hat for the past few weeks.
Most everyone in the local bibliophile world knows Molly Wizenburg is coming to Tulsa next week. She'll be at the Community Food Bank of Eastern Oklahoma, at 1304 N. Kenosha (click here for a map), on Thursday, April 1, to talk about her book, A Homemade Life.
What few people know is that I get to introduce her.
Which is hilarious, really. This Oklahoma-born, award-winning blogger and author, she needs no introduction. Even so, I was asked to get up and say a few words.
In my introduction I want to mention what first brought me to the blog Orangette. I want to talk about which recipe of Molly's I first made in my very own kitchen, about how I felt as I read and cooked my way through A Homemade Life.
And I've been thinking that I might talk about poop a little. I'd be dishonest not to, and you'll find out why at the book signing.
I hope Molly doesn't mind.
If you'd like to meet Molly and hear what she has to say about food and life (read: a lot of beautiful, funny, poignant things), don't miss this event. It starts at 7 p.m., and all you need to get in are at least two canned food items for a donation to our host, CFBEO. Copies of Molly's book will be available for purchase at the event.
Or, you could win one of two free copies, thanks to BookSmart Tulsa.
Here's what you do to enter:
1. Head to the comments section of this post.
2. Share with us one of your most cherished food memories.
3. Submit the comment before Sunday, March 28, at 4 p.m.
That's it! Easy, huh?
I'd like to start, if y'all don't mind.
I went to lots of camps when I was a kid. At the end of the last day of summer camp one year my grandfather picked me up in his candy-apple-red, 1948 Mercury Convertible. We headed home, chrome gleaming the entire way, to start supper. He'd already taught me how to peel potatoes without a peeler and how to brown hamburger. But that day we picked apples from a tree near the garage where he kept his classic cars, and together we made dozens of these small, fried apple pies. I'm sure my grandma didn't know what she'd do with so many pies, but I'll never forget that afternoon I spent in my grandparents' kitchen with my Papa, folding and frying pie after pie after pie. And sampling a few, of course.
Now you try.
See you at the signing. Don't forget your canned food items. You might want to pack an extra hanky, too. You'll need it if you shake hands with me. My palms get a bit slick when I get to introduce the blogger behind what the London Times deemed as the best food blog in the world.
Gulp.
Portrait photo by Kyle Johnson.
10 comments:
My grandfather was born in 1915 in rural West Texas and lived on next to nothing. When he and his brother were 10 and 8, their father took them to meet the traveling ice cream vendor. At that time, ice cream only made it around every year or two, and this was their first experience. He had saved his allowance for 3 weeks to purchase his first cone of ice cream which cost 3 cents at the time. He chose Strawberry. He had never seen a strawberry, so this sounded exotic. They sat down, and to their dismay discovered their ice cream was full of bugs. After a few minutes under the scorching sun of attempting to pick out the bugs, they gave up and sat with their head in their hands until the vendor kindly came by with another cone and explained that strawberries have seeds. Those were not bugs. My grandfather and his brother, with tears in their eyes, thanked the ice cream man and devoured their ice cream cone. This was to be one of the few positive memories of young childhood my grandfather had as his mother had died when he was an infant, and his father would only be with them another few years. He told me this story as we sat, in the middle of a West Texas scorching sun, eating OUR strawberry ice cream cones as we did every summer from the time I could first eat them until he died in 2000. You want to guess what my favorite thing to eat with my family is?
(I reposted because my name didn't show up.. pout)
It was sophomore year in college, living in the dorms (i.e. not so great food in the cafeteria), my roommates and I made a 10 pm run to Kroger and came home with a TON of junk food, spread it all out on the floor and sat around ate it--Ben and Jerry's ice cream, oreos, chips, you name it, we were enjoying it! Yes, it was pretty crazy, but it still was a fun memory!
My favorite food: veggies cooked on grill, in aluminum foil, potatoes, carrots, onions, peppers and what ever else that is available with lots of butter. My daughter taught us this after being a camp counselor
I remember my mom buying me the "kid" version of all her pots and pans. They were then same exact things, just in a smaller size. We had picked blackberries that day and came home to make cobbler. I made my own little bobbler whil my mom made a regular size cobbler. I remember putting it into the oven and being so excited to see the end result. We took both of them out of the over, let them cool and ate dinner. After dinner I got to eat *MY* cobbler all on my own. My mom, who is gone now, will never know how much that meant to me and why this is one of the reasons that I love the kitchen so much.
As a young child I was allergic to darn near everything. Bread, cheese, chocolate, potatoes. Not the close your throat kind of allergy, but the make you cough till you puke allergy. So I was forbidden from eating so many things.
It wasn't until I was about 10 years that old that I was given the green light to resume eating a bunch of the foods on "the bad list". The first thing I wanted to eat was my Nanny's macaroni and cheese. I would have lame butter noodles no more! (although I still kind of like buttery noodles)
So I sat and ate a bowl of homemade mac n cheese. And I was very happy.
Fried pickles are near the top of my list of favorite foods. Pickles in general I love, but fried ones are like heaven in your mouth. The first time I ever tried fried pickles, I was in Branson with my family. When I was a kid, we'd go there a couple of times a year, and one year my parents took us to this restaurant and ordered fried pickles. I was probably 10 and, normally nervous about trying new foods, I dove in and absolutely loved them. I probably ate more than half the basket. And for the next 10 years, I craved fried pickles but could never find them anywhere, except for that little restaurant in Branson, the name of which I can never remember.
Luckily, now, you can get fried pickles just about anywhere and, thanks to a cook at a restaurant where I used to work, I know how to make them at home!
And I really ant to read this book.
One of my favorite food memories would be from 2 Christmases ago. My mother is the hardest woman to cook for. She isn't really a picky eater but for some reason if she doesn't make it, she doesn't like it. Well, a couple of years ago I made a homemade pumpkin roll. It was my first married Christmas so I wasn't with my mom when I made it so she couldn't say she made it or helped. I really didn't think she would like it but turns out she LOVES it! I have to make it every year now!
p.s. I love Orangette and Molly's podcast Spilled Milk
I was on the Italian island of Capri and ordered eggplant parmesan at a restaurant atop a large cliff. It was TO DIE FOR. Not just the cheesy fresh mozzerella goodness, but the whole experience surrounded by ocean and winding streets and green. And the crazy part is - it had no breading. Just layers of eggplant, cheese, and marinara sauce. And an inspiring view of some Italian lovers making out on a bench outside. I can send you the picture of the people making out, if you want.
First ham and Cheese sandwich in Paris...
When my now husband and I were just friends (because I refused to date) we decided to cook dinner at my apartment one night. I had big plans to make an entire spread of Asian food, my latest favorite food. One of the items I made were Orange Chili Noodles. In attempt to spice them up a bit, I added too much chili sauce. The noodles turned out so spicy hot they were barely edible. The kind of hot that puts blisters on your tongue. The hubs was so gracious (and of course because he had a thing for me) he ate his whole plateful without even complaining. And then offered to take the leftovers home! And then told me he ate them for lunch the next day! It's a wonder he didn't get a hole in his stomach over those noodles. But he stuck around and look at us now. :)
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