Grampy had a large garden when we were growing up. We spent every other weekend at their house - we being my sister and I - and we were always elbows deep in some project. Splitting wood, trimming the Christmas trees they sold, tending the garden, cooking, baking, sewing new potholders; my grandparents were Depression-era domestic industrialists. Nothing went to waste, and anything could be fixed.
One summer day when I was around ten or so, Grampy bent down in the onion rows of the garden and pulled a scallion out of it's shallow dirt home. He wiped the root bulb off with his hand, took out his trusty pocket knife and sliced off the hair-like roots. He handed it to me.
"Here, eat this."
Me - "Eww, what is it?"
"Here, just try it!"
I trusted him, so I bit off the white bulb. "Tastes like an onion." I handed him back the green shoots.
"You can eat the rest of it."
Hottest. Thing. Ever.
After that, he used to joke around and hand me things I've never tried before - "Here, just try it!" And I always did.
Now, I'm a very adventurous eater. I'll usually try anything at least once. Except for Uni - I tried it four times before I found out that you have to eat it in the right month. Now I love it. I don't ever want to say that I don't like it because I've never tried it. However, I draw the line at brains - I don't want to end up with some weird prion disease.
Apparently, I'm a good cook too. Can you make this, can you make that, wait, you make "bacon cake?" I'll be using this blog as a creative outlet for things I make in the kitchen, because I have to keep track of my creations somewhere (along with the hundred thousand million billion other food bloggers).
