Food is Love

We went to NYC earlier in the week, and it made me feel very nostalgic. I saw glimpses of a ghost of my former self everywhere: getting first job in a museum; going on first dates with fiancé; losing my wallet, totally freaking out, having museum security guard give me a $20 bill to get home, and random woman mailing it to me from one of the busiest intersections in the world; writing 40 page papers for grad school; going out way too often, and staying out way too late; getting sexually harassed at my waitressing job; exhilarated, scared, and a little alone.

I also remembered the first meal I ever cooked when I moved in with Scott. I think I only owned one cookbook at that time which Scott's mother had given me for Christmas the previous year. I made Chicken Tikka with all the condiments. It was the first time I used a food processor, and I remember being surprised how delicious it was to mix yogurt, ginger, garlic, and mint together.

Then, I made a cake from the only cookbook I had. It was really good, and used what I understand is a southern technique with lemon lime soda in both the cake and the icing. It needed a bundt pan which I did not have and went to the adorable and convenient Cook's Companion. I remember feeling so excited to assemble a grocery list, to choose the combination of the best and  most economical ingredients, to closely follow all the directions and try to use my best judgment, and to finally produce genuinely tasty food. I remember how much that feeling of pride is tied up in feelings of appreciation and love for those you are cooking for. I was so happy that we were living together, and I think my cake was an expression of that.

Even though I wasn't even really that good at cooking at this point, I still attempted to make cookies for my friends' birthdays. It was more than just about skill or innate ability, it was about "I really enjoy your company, and I remembered it is your birthday!" I totally ruined a batch of meringue cookies by throwing in a bunch of espresso because she was obsessed with coffee (now I would probably go with espresso powder for baking, or a coffee liqueur), but she acted like she loved them anyway.

We don't really eat desserts very much, and I have not made that many cakes. I made a coconut cake for my birthday party last year, and I've made chocolate cookies for Scott for our anniversary. Somehow this cake was our "moving in together cake". It was also the first cake I ever remember making by myself. Who could ever think that something with 7-up in it could be so symbolic of something so significant? The fluffy, zesty, juicy cake was as delicious as the moment itself.