That my lunch #1

One crisp and clear mid-November day, I jumped on the subway and went up to the Black Camel for one of their delicious seared steak sandwiches with horseradish mayo, caramelized onions and arugula. After lunch I went to the park across the street and stomped through the thick carpet of golden leaves and enjoyed the feeling of the sun on my face.

Head of the class

After my first day in the kitchen at cooking class, I realized I will never work in a professional kitchen.

I was exhausted, deflated, aching and demoralized. And all I made was soup.

It was the dice that did it. I'd never really thought too much about the size of my vegetable cuts. I always figured as long as they were close, no one would care. And that might have been true at home, but I knew as soon as I saw the chef's face as he surveyed the hodgepodge of carrots and onions dejectedly floating on the surface of my soup that I was in a different ballgame here.

Signature move

My first cookbook was the Reader’s Digest 30 Minute Cookbook. If I recall correctly, it was a gift from my sister, a way to keep me from starving after I finished college and took my first trembling steps towards becoming a grown up (a process that continues today). Truth be told, I don’t know if I’ve made more than a half dozen recipes out of it in the decade-plus it’s been in my possession, but I’ve kept it around, its unabashed plebeianism setting it apart from the Julias and Marthas on our cookbook shelf. Why?