Of Love and Pie

My mother loves to tell a story from my childhood—the ‘Julie’ story. One particular afternoon circa 1989 the house went quiet. Suspiciously quiet. She called up to the playroom to ask what I was doing, and a small voice responded ‘I’m watching Julie’. Julia Child, actually. Left to my 6-year-old devices and full range of PBS programming, Julia Child & Company and Dinner at Julia’s quickly became weekly staples. After all, when did Bob Ross or Mr. Rogers ever whack a chicken with a cleaver?

Beyond the playroom, however, food has always played a joyous, gluttonous, and thrilling part in my life and have no doubt it always will do so. The child of two foodies themselves, it was only a matter of time, an inevitable process of osmosis before it was I who insisted on doing the stirring, chopping, and sautéing dans la cuisine. Most familial disputes in our house tend to begin with 'what shall we have for dinner?' and proceed to sets of intent, determined eyes peering over the glossy covers of Gourmet, Bon Appétit, or stained and well-loved copies of The Silver Palate and Madhur Jaffrey's An Invitation to Indian Cooking. Travel and recreation, I must admit, is also constantly tinged with foodie motivations. I have been known, on more than one occasion, to not only plan itineraries but to also send out travel advice e-mails to friends visiting Paris or Istanbul with intricate, detailed descriptions of mouthwatering three-course menus to be found in every corner of the city without a single thought to what might be discovered in the hours between meal times (which, for me, to be honest, is a relative concept to be governed more by geographic proximity to the next tantalizing prospect than military time).

There is also the comfort factor, which I didn't fully appreciate until I really got in to baking pies. As a birthday present one year, my aunt put together a recipe box containing handwritten recipe cards of hers and my grandmother's famous pie crust and (admittedly Midwestern) delicious fillings. I know you have been anticipating the arrival of this cliché from the appearance of the word 'comfort', but I don't think I'm alone in repeating, once more, that nothing is quite as holistically satisfying as taking in a slice of homemade pie. Baked goods, I learned, also worked wonders as peace offerings. Turmoil in the office or at home? Why, strawberry rhubarb to the rescue. The failed lemon blueberry scone attempt to save a withering relationship with an ex-boyfriend is all but seared into my mind, and I have to admit that I continue to self-soothe with baking (which friends tend to appreciate in any case).

Food, I have found, as you will have as well by this point, is also the one thing I can write about and talk about endlessly and inexhaustibly, often, I’m sure, to the detriment of a handful of very patient friends slowly going green with nauseated boredom. So, I hereby offer a solution! Every week I shall endeavour (or, for you all following this in the States, 'endeavor') to channel my food obsession into a bit of pith (commentary, the pithy stuff, the musings that the Oxford examiners have no want of) and pit (hopefully tearing myself away from the books long enough to try a weekly recipe or two, and, if successful, pass them along).

I do hope you'll follow along, and please feel free to leave comments about what inspires you, repulses you, or leaves you hungry for more!