Milkshake

I vividly remember sitting on a counter at perhaps the age of 5 or 6 “assisting” my late Aunt Elaine with a milkshake being whirred in a Waring Beehive Blender.  My memory of that moment includes vanilla ice cream, milk and Bosco chocolate syrup.  My fascination with that machine ignited a lifelong love affair with food, living, travel and the kitchen. 

It’s taken 30 years of living to developed the instinct I think is necessary to cook great food.  Whether I’m hovering over a steaming cauldron of french onion soup or building an 18 inch tower of cream puffs into the French crocquembouche for our Christmas gatherings, my instinct always tells me to taste, adjust, taste, adjust. 

Never christened by any cooking school with a degree, my experience serves as my foundation.  From that counter in Brooklyn, New York, to now, in Erwinna, Pennsylvania, cooking allows me an escape into that world of creation, if only for a few hours.  And when I share it with the people I love, well it’s just an amazing feeling.  Welcome to my new blog, where I will diary my food adventures, musings and observations, with tips and advice along the way.

The last words that my Aunt Elaine said to me that day were four words I will never forget and perhaps programmed me into thinking I could one day cook, if not for a living, at least for the satisfaction of my friends, family and myself.  I see her vividly holding out her right hand and saying, “Compliments to the chef!”

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