When I think of cozy mornings and shared meals, the memory of my family gathered around the kitchen table comes to mind. The scent of something warm and delicious baking …
I still remember the first time I tasted broccoli salad at a family gathering. The cool, crunchy broccoli mixed with the sweetness of cranberries and the saltiness of bacon made …
My love for food started when I was really young probably around five or six years old. I would spend hours in the kitchen with my mom, clinging to her apron, begging to help her cook. We’d mix dough together, sprinkle flour everywhere (way more than we actually needed!), and cut out fun cookie shapes before popping them into the oven.
I’d sit right in front of the oven, watching as the dough slowly turned golden brown, waiting eagerly for that warm, sweet smell to fill the kitchen. The second the timer went off, I’d jump up, calling for my mom to take them out. I could never wait for them to cool completely I’d grab one while it was still warm, carefully blowing on it so I wouldn’t burn my tongue, savoring every bite.