I credit ketchup for my love of food. My dad, in his infinite wisdom, introduced ketchup as a last resort to his obstinate toddler as he coaxed her (me) to eat. While successful in the early days, little did he know that I would later identify ketchup as its own food group.
For a long time, I loved ketchup more than I loved any other food, and I put it on just about everything that wasn’t salad. My ketchup usage hit such highs that I remember my grandmother telling me to “quit it” as ketchup was just “red sugar” that I was “drinking like soup.” (Probably true.) I don’t recall rethinking my choice for even a minute.
To this day, sometimes I crave ketchup and go out of my way to make or buy something I can eat it with. Just ask the server at America’s Dogs in O’Hare International Airport. Continue reading
Of all my material possessions, the eggplant costume hanging in my closet gives me the most joy. My mom hand-sewed it for me for Halloween in 5th grade, and I have worn it for almost every costume-required occasion since then.
The typical exchange goes something like:
Other person, as he or she looks up and down from my leaf and stem head piece to the giant, shiny, maroon-y purple bulbous blob hanging over my shoulders and down to my knees all around me: “Wow, what a great costume!” Continue reading
New London is a special place. In 1943, my great grandparents purchased a house one block from the beach in New London, Connecticut. At the time, it was a summer getaway from West Hartford. Over the years, the beach house has become a hang out for my whole extended family – grandparents, great aunts and uncles, first and second cousins, first and second cousins once removed, and a revolving cast of friends. It’s the same brisket-eating crowd I talked about earlier.
Credit: Marney Pollack
Even though my immediate family only went to New London once or twice a summer, I have collected a trove of memories I will always cherish. Continue reading