Cooking is Love made Visible ----Final Draft

Cooking is Love Made Visible

Food can have varied meanings, as everyone has their own interpretations or memories. For me, food is representation of meetings, family and friend get togethers ect. Being able to hae food be the center of my activities has brough me to a peaceful and happy time in life. Remembering old recipes from when I was ten and possibe even younger, there is something so pleasant about knowing I can pass these on. It is similar to a family airloom, that gets passed from generation to generation, yet stay within the family. Food in acts as a binding for my family, being togther can be and is enjoyable. However adding food to equation can make the experience more palattable and devine.

Growing up in a split family brought to the table many options for meals, introduced at an early age. As, I had four parents at the age of four with everyone finding pleasure in different tastes and falvors of food. I can remeber the simple nights with the most heavenly Macaroni and cheese with cylender shaped meat cut up and tossed in with the Macaroni for a little protein. I remember being at my mom/dad's house and calling the other parent to see what they were having for dinner. The answer to that question Solely depended on where I stayed that night. In reality, all one would have to say is I'm baking cookies for dessert. Going from a child to an adult brought many changes for me, when it came to food.

Becoming a young adult has definetly impacted my life in multiple ways, but the most promenant way has got to be food. I can now cook and prepare meal for myself, meaning that I am no longer help to what is prepared for me. I enjoy attempting to cook. However, I have always found pleasure in baking which does not suprise me as, that is something passed down generation's. My grandma alwasy had a knack for baking, my favorite past time of her baking is that nothing she made came from a can or a box. Thus made her Chocolate Chip Cookies a treat, not only did the aroma fill the air with a sweet scent but, when taking a bite it was a fluffy sugary delight with a tuch of chocolate morsales in every bite. Family Traditions still remain in my family and we take them seriously. It is a tie fr all of us to join as one and take pleasure in our family and too see the old recipes come to life.

One of our biggest family traditions, is Christmas Eve. My family would pile into the car with excited eyes and hands full of present's and sweet treats, from Grandma's Recipe book. As we would head out on to the open road of Interstate eighty we would sing along to Christmas songs playing on the car stereo, as music is cover of our binded family. We always did a pot luck for dinner on this night. Green Bean Casserole was a delight for me to bring as it tasted so delicius with tender green beans in a soupy flavor mixed with crunchy onions atop. Although, visiting with what felt like long lost family members I found pleasure in seeing a part of my Grandma at Christmas . I often wondered if she was there in spirit with all her old recipes taking life and breathing and being able to live through her children and grand children.

My Grandmother was an amazing baker. However she never did bake proffesionaly it was more of a hobby for her. She found true happiness in baking. Some of my Grandma's Recipe's that are still consistent in my family is her fudge. Home made and of all different types from Chocolate to White Chocolate, some with nuts and fresh fruit.With every bite I took of my Grandma's fudge the more I wanted as, it just completely had the melt in the mouth affect. When I was a child I loved to eat cake and sweets, yet becoming an adult flavors and textures changed for me. I despise the sponge texture of cake, the only cake I will eat is Chocolate Chip Cake. (Grandmas Recipe) For the longest time I had assume the recipe belonged to mom or dad, as I got it every year on my birthday since the time I was eight. Come to find out that not only on Holidays but, even on my birthday's a peice of my Grandma was with me. My parents also enjoy cooking and baking following my grandmas recipes for the most part.

Food has a way of happiness in my family. I beleive for my family it's a gene that's in out blood stream. My Dad finds happiness in baking as, his mom did. (my Grandma) Baking puts a smile on his face and makes his eyes glisten, as if to resmble him helping hi mom as a child. In 2004 my dad was diagnosd with Diebetes, this changed everything for him. Learning to bake all over again was difficult but he found a way, a new way of life some would say. Finding a way to make my Grandma's recipes in his baking, shortly became natural. My father also enjoys to cook, but preparing meals as me and my sisters were little were not so pleasurable. Coming home from a long day at work and sometimes school and prepare meals for three children was difficult. Thus, making easy dinners best suited for him. Now that all three of his children are grown, he can now enjy cooking and preparing amazing meals and he continues to bake frequently.

My mom also takes pleasure in cooking for her family. Although, it was not always this way. I can remember being a child and having her cook dinner, for her three children after a long day of work. She would often make easy dinners as sh had three mouths to feed, hers being the fourth. So as a parent having to work and then come home and be a mommy to her kids, I can see how simple worked for her. Now that all of her children are grown and can now cook for themselves, I find pleasure in cooking for her and my step dad. I often see why easy dinners worked, as I work part time and go to school full time. Easy dinners always took less then thirty minutes. My parents were not always worried about Nutrition but what was convenient for my family.

None of my family worried about what was healthy, however we worried about what pleased and gave pleasure to our palette. Growing up i always assmed healthy food can be good for me. Althugh, I have been able to find alternatives for sweets, like a substitute for sugar or I can make food with fresh herbs grown in my own backyard. Food is a neccesity to life so, why not make it have flavor and be toothsome.

Making food have flvor doesnt mean it is healthy, as my Grandma's baking was never really healthy but is tasted so scrumptious. The definition of happiness will not have the word food in it, but it is however an open ended Defintion. Make it what I want, withought having food as a big porion of my family activitis I would not have such fond memories o family and happiness within.

In the end, my famly will remain bound by food and fond memories of family recipes and the presence of my Grandmother in the kitchen whenever I myself or others in the famly are baking, she resides next to us the whole way through our baking experience. Overall enjoy it while you can and while you have thse to enjoy it with, even though my Grandma is no longer around it is like she is beking with me whenever I'm using her recipes.

Good'Ol Hot-N-Spicy's [Writer's comment]

First off I'm sorry for all those spaces I tried to take them away but they kept coming back every time I pressed the "Publish Post" button. Second the essay I made it like a story again since I love doing stories, next time I'll try to do something different. The whole idea of having the story was to show how me and my friend always came back to McDonald's through good or bad times. I hope you all appreciated me adding the nutrition facts stuff at the end of the essay. I thought that was clever. Thank you for reading. God Bless.
-Kevin Turcios
P.S.- I lost the notes that spoke about where to publish the writers comment. [Sorry]

Feeling Lucky Final Draft

Have you ever felt extremely lucky, or had one of those days that just seem to go exactly how you wanted it to go? Saint Patrick's day is celebrated for luck and a lot of other different reasons and in a lot of different ways, and in my family we celebrate it as all out as we can with parties and great food. While we all have different reasons for celebrating this magnificent day the main reason I do it is to celebrate the good luck I've had and look forward to the good luck coming my way.
Family heritage is one of the best reasons to celebrate this day and the Mitchell family has more than enough reason to celebrate with our deep heritage. With an entire side of the family stemming from Ireland, this day is an opportunity for family to get in touch with our roots. Where people are from dictate many things like how they look, what they like to eat, or even how they act. For the family it means eating what we remember, acting like we do, and mostly getting together and celebrating. Throughout this entire day family will say call or come say hello from grandpa's to grandma's to uncle's and aunts all calling to get in touch with family and talk about where we all came from. Talking about subjects that span from family history to plans for the day. Its a busy day but all worth as people seem to tell something new every year from learning about what and who are our family really is. Throughout the years I've learned about great great grandpa's and distant relatives who have somewhat committed something of importance to our family, and each year our family gets a little closer through sharing these facts and stories.
After jobs and school is when the real fun begins music is played as loud as speakers can go and games are played and laughs are shared. As the family proclaimed Irish chef the fun and frivolities are short parts of my day as cooking the gigantic meal for the day takes hours upon hours and we usually end up eating around eight o' clock even if i had started at two. A good Irish meal for the family is many courses and many types and variations of potatoes, meat and bread. The meal preparation starts out with the dishes that take the longest to make and end with the quickest and somehow whether it's luck or not the vast array of courses is always completed and nobody leaves hungry. I've been the chef of this meal for the past five years and as my family says no one can make it as authentic and home made.
It started while in high school and I began taking various cooking classes in which I not only excelled but found something I generally enjoyed doing. Every recipe I made seemed like it was exactly how its supposed to be with no imperfections. With my cooking group we made many delicious meals and aced many cooking projects with our excellent food. It was only when a certain project came my way when my cooking for the family career began. The class was asked to make food from where we where from, from our heritage. Knowing my heritage well from the many years of St. Patrick days celebrated it was more than simple to find and pick out a few recipes from one of our many family recipe books. The dish chosen to start with was the in beginner level of cooking, Irish potato bread. Through several practice runs it was instantly a hit and my classmates loved every crumb of it. With my new confidence I tried it once at home for the family and again an instant hit. From there I tried my hand at several other dishes and throughout time I even made my own additions and took away what wasn't needed and became what I thought either a accomplished or just a plain lucky Irish cook. When the big day arrived I offered to make my dishes for the family and unknown to me it would be the start to a great tradition.
I made my versions of Irish potato bread , soups, meat dishes, and many other types of bread that day, but when it came to my last dish is when it turned from a good meal to a great and memorable one. The family's favorite dish by far that first day was the Fried Cabbage and Bacon. They couldn't get enough of it as they gobbled it down and asked for seconds and then thirds. From that day on I was made the official cook for the family for every St. Patrick's day to come.
Throughout the five years I've added many dishes to the menu. The entire meal last year involved potato bread, soda bread, potato and leek soup, Dublin coddle, and Fried Cabbage and Bacon. While I'd like to add more the main restriction is time and if I did add my family would never get to eat. Instead the recipes are substituted for other ones each year. Soup could be traded with a sausage dish or bread with a potato dish and so on. the hearty and sometimes spice of different types of meat, most often sausage. However different the meal plan is the taste can always be a little similar. Many of the recipes call for the starch and bitter taste of potatoes or the hearty and sometimes various spices of different types of meat, most often sausage. That's often why many ingredients are switched and substituted for others for example peppered and seasoned bacon over regular bacon. No matter the substitutes it always turn out different but still fantastic. Making it different each year is part of the pull and leaves family and friends to wonder what food will meet there taste buds this year.
Each year I want to add something new and I hope I'll be lucky enough for it to go well enough or for me to be able to finish it and for it to taste amazing as it always does. That's why my family celebrate the day though for great amounts of luck in life and that our family will always be willing to come closer and connect over delicious food on St. Patrick's Day.

The Bird Who Brings Us Together, Second Draft

Holiday is synonymous with feast in my family, and for the feast of all feasts, every member of my family braces themselves for a long, but rewarding day. Once a year, for Thanksgiving, my mother abandons boxed macaroni and vacuum-packed hot dogs, and actually goes grocery shopping. Her focus turns about a week before the big day and she spends her time hunting down the fattest bird, lying in his death bed of ice. She also uses her motherly instincts to accumulate a very well-educated guess in the number of potatoes that await her furry, turning them into an obliterated spud flesh perfection.

I take the task of creating the masterpiece which may only be known to the world as green bean casserole –personally, the name should be revised and something along the lines of “the casserole of all casseroles” and should be worldly accepted.

To create such bliss, I first search the family pantry for my victims. The pantry poses problem though, as it resembles a wild, untamed jungle of metal cans and open bags of timeless potato chips. Usually finding the concealed French cut green beans in the middle of a sea of other canned vegetables, my luck runs short with the stuffy, thick cream of Mushroom soup. But not to the tricky little fungus’ avail; I quickly catch it lying hidden behind a random box of Saltines crackers that age back to my original birthday. As I begin my quest in creating a gift from heaven, my brother stumbles about just above the kitchen in our spare bedroom. He doesn’t realize the racket he makes with every step, but today, Thanksgiving Day, no one is concerned with telling him.

My mother and I in the kitchen, my brother and father bump into each other throughout the rest of the house as they scramble to clean. In the eyes of my brother, cleaning means taking everything in sight, and moving it out of sight. With no place or purpose, I watch as he loads his lengthy arms with last Sunday’s paper’s remains, and those few, misplaced, mismatched socks that the cat drags from upstairs to her sanctuary on the living room couch. He crosses our creaky wooden floor, steps onto the freshly cleaned, older-than-dirt carpet, and meets our family computer. Quickly he throws the heap of household memories onto the desk which the computer sleeps. “Clean” reads the caterpillar eyebrows on his face. Returning to the unorthodox dungeon upstairs –which he claims is his own bedroom, my brother disappears until the riveting sent of turkey and stuffing find its way to the senses of my brother’s angry appetite.

My father’s thunder is about to roar. His refined culinary skills are reserved for these very special days. He knows exactly how to spice our bird and its stuffing. He chops young, tender slices of vibrantly orange carrots into near-perfect squares. Next, the unsuspecting celery says goodbye to its head of greenery. Like a hot knife slicing through the thin top layer of butter, my father makes a swift incision through the lifeless green body. The celery slices beautifully, and I imagine the stringy muscles of the vegetable which would have remained if anyone but my father had tried to cut the thing so delicately. After finishing up with the stuffing, the king of the kitchen moves to gratifying gravy for my mother’s lost potato souls. The white heaps of lifeless spuds resemble a heavenly mountain for the hungry fool, but my father knows that the simple joy is not quite complete. Taking the last juices the bird knew, my father cradles the heavy, blue-specked iron roaster, again as old as me, and drains seasoned, deliciously brow coating into a new bowl. From there it’s a mystery, and I leave the kitchen to keep the magic alive. When I next return, gravy, mashed potatoes, turkey, stuffing, green bean casserole, French bread, and canned, thinly sliced cranberry line the counters, ready to fight the seemingly ceaseless battle that is hunger on Thanksgiving Day.

My heart races as my eyes widen to take in all, and just as things begin to slow and transform into that motionless bliss that is frozen time, I hear the rickety rack of my grandmother’s walker, and my sister’s beautifully loud laugh lingering on the outside lawn. Never an orthodox young woman, my sister has finally arrived (fashionably late, as she will forever claim) with the woman who started it all. My grandmother, now limited through her past strokes, still has a keen sense of good eats when she smells them, and she races up our walkway with her walker combated with tennis ball booties to keep the sound minimal. But the sound of her well-known, well-rehearsed quest to our front door rings loudly, and it wouldn’t be the same day had we forgotten to listen.

I walk to the heavy, white metal screen door, push it open into the bright Colorado sunshine that warms our home the way the oven currently is, and watch for three nosey little kitties to try and make there get-away. My grandmother and sister finally reach us, and bring more to the table. Not only does my sister carry with her a large, silver-coated serving platter, (that was once the prized possession of my grandmother’s) on it, mounds of deliciously decorated cookies, Brownies, and other sweets, but she carries with her an imageless comfort.

With my sister, my grandmother, my brother, father, mother, and me, our family has reunited for a single, pleasant afternoon. We still await a second, near-family family, who bring home-made dips, chips, and other “munchies” but in these few precious moments we stand like sitcom TV stars reminiscing in outrageous memories. The smell of our hard work lingers, and taunts our aching bellies –which all of us, including the dog, have starved in order to truly devour and indulge in our upcoming meal. It is most comforting to me when I stand just out of the way, catching bits and pieces of lovely language sprawling out of each family member’s mouth. Looking at the only partially organized house that I call home, I know that there isn’t any place better.

Time passes and the evening continues. My father and brother set our large, banquet table (which we acquired from the hotel my father worked at long ago) and I set out some homemade place mats. My sister is in charge of dishes and drinks, and my mother watches over my grandmother in the kitchen. Our long-time friends arrive, and we finally allow ourselves to snack. The homemade dips and fresher bags of potato chips go to use, and before long we all accumulate next to our 70’s oven in which a plump little bird awaits to consecrate a beautiful memory.

My father finds our single electric cutting knife, reserved only for today, and cuts the meat perfectly. I find some soup spoons, ladles, and anything else large enough to support a serving and make the gourmet cuisine approachable. We at last make our way into the older-than-dirt carpeted living room where the banquet table stands proud, and find our seats. My mother and father grouped as one, then my brother and his best friend, myself at the end of the table, two more friends, circling about the other side, and next to them my sister and her “always made it” fiancé. At the other end of the table sits my grandmother. This moment in time will forever be pictured in my mind’s photo album. Physically, we have but one thanksgiving picture, taken when my grandfather was still with us, and that’s really all we need. Memories of the meal that bring us all together stand strong and frivolously in each of our minds, as is expressed through the smiles, laughter, and vision the family exudes as one.

Where do Babies Come From? (Draft 2)

Where do Babies Come From?

: And Other Blood Chilling Questions.

This is the story of my best friend that ever lived. My best friend died saving my life, and lives on in another form protecting me from other certain dooms that seek to snuff out my life like a dying candle drowning in its own wax. I met my friend, a truly fabulous individual, when I was very young. I can’t remember the first time we met, but I smile every time I think about the time we have had together.

This story has nothing to do with me.

My Best Friend Came From:

“I came from a small place. It was very cramped and I barely had what I needed to grow. I was outside when I was very little, completely exposed to the elements. I was unsure if I would survive, but I wanted to and worked very hard at it. Survival was my reason for being. I lived in the dirt, hollowing out places to lay down when I could but laying on plain rock when I couldn’t. I was too little to be safe around fire, and could never run fast enough to escape a wild fire so I never risked getting burned. Healing would have been difficult without running water. I always heated myself in the sun every time I could, and fought for shade when it was hot enough to whither me up like a dead lizard. I had to wait for rain if I wanted a shower, and when I wasn’t near a stream I would dig for water to drink. I would breathe deeply and stay relaxed no matter what crossed my way. I had a dog pee on me once or twice, and if I hadn’t stayed relaxed or breathed deeply I might have shriveled in on myself like a dying mushroom. Stress has a way of tearing me down to my roots, and being still very little a dog can do a lot of damage. I worked hard to stay alive, taking what I could get, making food out of it, and even sharing with anyone or thing that came along hungry. I grew fast, because I worked very hard to make my own food out of nothing. When you come into a world without rules, anything is possible.”

My Friends Strengths

“Once I was big enough to be influential, I began building things and being noticed. Nobody notices the little guy, but when you start making things they want… well some people don’t ask they just take. There are some wonderful people out there who helped give me what I needed to build, and never took the last of my things, so I would always have one of everything I made. Sometimes I would just get rid of everything though, so I could start over new. I started small, making art. I made the most beautiful things… If Rembrandt could see me now! Sometimes I would use just one color, solid and without form, but when the light hit it…

Sometimes I would use so many colors, that I could make a rainbow jealous. Some people really like when I use every shade of one color. It is truly beautiful.

My art eventually got big enough, that it became homes. Bird houses, squirrel homes, and eventually homes for people and even skyscrapers. I was very popular for a long time. I still am in some circles. There are so many people that have copied my designs, that very few know I was the inspiration. My designs have become common place. Everyone has seen or used my designs, even in lost tribes of the Amazon or Africa.

…..

It was all for my survival.

……”

My Friends Death

I was minding my business one day in early spring, when I was brutally attacked. There were so many blades I didn’t see them coming. It was an absolute frenzy. There were people and animals alike, all tearing down everything I had worked all my life to build. Teeth and blades ripped my flesh apart in various excruciating manners. I could not run. There was no place safe, and I was surrounded. While much of my flesh and skeleton lay scattered on the ground ‘mulch,’ some of my flesh was eaten! I was torn to bits scattered to the winds and harvested for food! Nobody thought twice.

I had done nothing to any of them, except in eating me I tried with earnest to give them a belly ache and make them think twice about eating my family.”

My Friend’s Food

My friend is a producer, a maker of some of the most excellent and exotic foods ever made. A lot of them are toxic to eat, but some eat them anyway. Many foods my friend makes are very common at the markets across the world. My friend is very well traveled. My friend always works sun up to sun down and sometimes through the night to make the most delectable food, nobody can survive without it!

My friend is the only one who makes it, and is murdered for it.

My friend is a plant, not just one but every plant is my friend.

Plants are unique. They photosynthesize. They take our dirty nasty breath and emissions and various waste gasses, and turn them into oxygen and food. It sounds simple, but it’s not. It is the full effort of every plant to photosynthesize. Without photosynthesis there would be no food. It is the beginning and end all of food.

And Here Is The Recipe.

What do You do?, to get food (draft 1)

What do you do to get food? Do you grow it? Do you use one of the many drive up windows? Does it fall magically from the sky? Is it free? Where does your food come from and how much effort do you use to get it? Think about the things you do throughout the day and how much energy you use. How much of that is devoted to food every day?

INSERT

?

HERE

OMNIVORES

I am an omnivore. I eat Organisms. I am an opportunist. I eat things that are easy to get. I shop at the grocery store, and mix processed ingredients when I cook. I learned this from my family. I eat when I am hungry, tired, lonely, sad, bored, and excited.

BUT I hate food

various photos of omnivore, carnivore, herbivore, scavenger, then producer, then sun

Love and Memories Never Forgotten (Final)

The crisp refreshing autumn air, the musty scent from crushed leaves and the contrasted golden and green trees generally brings to the forefront of my mind the time in my life for which I would be changed forever. My naïve 15 year old self would never be the same. I've never really had the opportunity to share this moment in my life with that many people. I never thought that I really should. I hate having people feel sorry for me; in fact, it is not a sorrowful thing to me. I've grown through this and I am grateful for what I am left with: love and memories

Only one person existed whom I could tell my problems to and just let my heart pour out like a cascading waterfall: it was my mom. In the autumnal months, especially with hefty appetites (must be from our bodies needing to fatten up for the winter) baking sweets was a necessity for my mom and I. In our snug baking area the heartwarming scents of delicate sweet strawberries tingling with powdered sugar or chocolate chips melting upon saccharine cookie dough could thaw away any bitterness. March 2005. I remember my mom calling all of us to the living room to talk. “This is just a family meeting to tell my brother and me to do our chores the right way,” I anticipated. “BJ, Katie,” my mom spoke. “I just wanted to let you know that I love you two VERY much. God is with us all the time and He’s still with us now. Today I went to the doctor… and they told me that I have breast cancer.” I froze. I couldn’t move. She told us how they had caught it early and that it would be an easy process. At that point, I started laughing awkwardly in confusion. I had no idea how to respond. My little brother probably didn’t understand either. He was six years old and understood that she was sick and needed medicine. I knew that cancer was a horrible disease that attacked the body, and sometimes victims of it did not survive. I went to my room and broke down. I couldn’t talk to my mom and pour my heart out about it, I just couldn’t this time. Here and there, my mother would have to go in for chemotherapy treatments and one of the types of food that helped her recover, while enduring an achy body and a metallic tang due to chemo, was sweets. In all honesty, sugary sweets made our whole family feel better and more relaxed. Just a morsel of this indulgent substance could melt away worries as it slowly trickled down the throat. Cooking together, as we made chocolate covered pretzels and gingersnap cookies, allowed for a deeper type of healing; a type of healing that brought us together as it healed our emotions. Mixing, melting, and making may have helped in the actual suspension of the cancer because the cancer started to dissipate and things were looking better after eight long months. There were very few “spots” with cancer. Life started getting back to normal. Normal for us was not having to worry about my mom.

January 2006, it returned. This time called Inflammatory Breast Cancer. This kind of cancer was stubborn and my mom needed a specific and new type of treatment that would be tried out for one of the first times on my mom. In order for this treatment to instigate, she would have to stay in Houston, Texas for about six months. As her young teenage daughter, who was going to be stuck with my dad and younger brother, I didn’t want her to go. I missed my mom so much and all the cooking that we didn’t get to do in-between. For us, cooking was a way to connect. My dad knew how to cook, but cooking together as mother and daughter has a different sort of meaning. It means girl talk and my dad couldn’t offer that bond. My mom and I talked every night on the phone and she told me about her day in Houston and I told her about my day at school and about some of the struggles that I had dealt with that day. She missed my first dance (8th grade social), but I knew that she was still thinking about me, while at the same time, flushing her body of the awful cancer.

Every day after school, my best friend Allison and I walked to the elementary school from the middle school to pick up our younger siblings. One day, as we were about to find a spot to sit down Allison stopped. “Hey Katie, is that your mom?” she asked. I looked closely and replied, “No, she’s in Houston, remember?” I took one more glace to make sure that it really wasn’t her because I had thoughts and hallucinations that she was there sometimes. Then I quickly glimpsed once more and saw that it really was my mom. I ran to her, so full of joy and excitement, and gave her the biggest hugs that I had ever given.

My mom was not back from Houston because her treatments were finished, she had come back early because the treatment had some problems. I did not know this at the time and I didn't question my mom's presence back at home. I was absolutely thrilled to have her back.
May 2007. The cancer gradually took a hold of my mom, but did not take a hold of her faith. The next few months my mother continued to visit the hospital for her treatments. She eventually had to spend weeks at a time in the hospital as the cancer continued to grow. During the holidays though, and every time that autumn would roll around, we whipped out the cookie dough and chocolate foods and other sweets. One of the sweets that we made and that I continue to make every year is Chocolate Coconut Squares. The Coconut Squares in particular are made each year because of the sweet crispy coconut shreads and the indulgent half-melted chocolate chips. Eventually this sugary delight became our favorite recipe during the fall.
Near the end of her life my mom requested for her loved ones certain and special gifts to remind us of her. For my gift, my mom’s friends went about remodeling my room and my mom “hooked me up” with her best friend’s son, who I had a major crush on at the time, to go to freshman homecoming together. She also requested to each of us that we would celebrate her life and not mourn her death. I do so every year around these months of autumn, especially since October is Breast Cancer Awareness month, and near the end of her earthly life (September 26th, 2007) through making the Chocolate Coconut Squares to remember the good times, not the sad times, of love and memories that will never be forgotten.

Thanksgiving of 2009 Final

I sat there mesmerized by all the wonderful foods in front of me, just waiting to be eaten. There was a giant twenty pound turkey cooked sitting in the middle of the table with its golden color to show that it was cooked, which made it look like it was shinning. Surrounding the turkey were all sorts of wonderful foods that please every taste bud! There was corn, peas, mashed potatoes with tasteful brown gravy slowly moving down the mountain of mashed potatoes. It was finally Thanksgiving!

Buzz! Buzz! Buzz! It was five 'o' clock in the morning as my alarm clock started to scream and tell me it was time to get up. Today was finally the day my family and I were going to see my uncle Tommy in Oklahoma. I had to get up very early because it is a twelve hour drive from Colorado to Oklahoma, and we wanted to get there before dark. We already packed and had our Expedition (SUV) ready to go. I got out of bed, shut off the alarm and slowly half awake grabbed my pillow and blanket and headed to the car. When I got in my sister Julianna was already sitting in her seat ready to go. We had to wait a few minutes for my mom and dad to get in but they finally did and we started the car and drove off.

The trip was not bad because we left so early. I slept for half the trip since I stayed up all night too anxious to go to bed, I was too excited that we were going down to Oklahoma. The rest of the trip was very relaxing since there was only four of us my mom Violet, dad Jerry, sister Julianna, and I it was not crowed in a seven seat er expedition. I actually liked the car trip because Julianna and I had previously collected a bunch of DVDs to bring on the trip to keep us entertained. Some times it was hard because we would argue what movie to watch. Until we finally came upon a solution, where she would choose a movie then after that movie I would choose one, and the process would be repeated to keep it fair and no fighting. Just like that after a few movies and a bunch of pit stops, for food and bathrooms we finally arrived in the little town of Chandler Oklahoma (about an hour away from Oklahoma city).

We pulled up to my uncle's house which was very nice. He had a picket fence go all the way around his property, a little pond in the front yard of his house. Also his little brick house had a garden of flowers and little trees right by his front door. Before we could get out of the car the fading, white olden front door opens and out rushes a stamped of dogs. There was a blue healer female dog named Blue, a little short haired brown dachshund named Baby Cakes, and a chihuahua mix named Abby. Blue and Abby were both Tommy's dogs and Baby Cakes is my aunt Kelly's dog. Finally I reach the front door and after being smothered by dog kisses and being covered in drool I notice my aunt Kelly.

I run to Kelly and give her a big hug where once again I am smothered with sloppy kisses this time it was Kelly's. I was very happy to see Kelly because I have not seen her in a few months since she moved down here to live with Tommy after my grandma passed away. I look around and instantly I know Kelly has been very busy, the place was spotless, it even had a new feeling to it because it was so clean even though the house is pretty old. I walked outside to see my uncle Tommy and of course he was with his two horses. The horses did not seem to care that there was company here, unlike the dogs that were freaking out running around wagging their tails ferociously and barking trying to get people to notice them. Finally Tommy comes in except for he was not alone. He was with a new girl around his age and her name was Bambi, she was very nice and not shy at all. Bambi was Tommy's new girlfriend who lives in the town next too chandler. Later that night I found out that we were going to be going over to Bambi's house the next day to celebrate Thanksgiving with her family also. Finally after hours of talking and everyone catching up on the current status of every one's life, Bambi went home and we all went to bed. It was hard for me to sleep because I was so excited from meeting Bambi, finally seeing Kelly, and Tommy again that I stayed up an extra hour watching TV until finally I was able to dwindle off into a deep sleep.

I woke up to this warm tingling feeling on my face open my eyes and I am blinded by the sunlight. Of course the only ray of sunlight that can pierce the blinds happens to be right were my head lays. I jump out of bed and run outside to see whats going on. It was nine 'o' clock and everyone was already up. Most of them had already taken showers and were ready to go. Tommy told me that we were leaving for Bambi's in thirty minutes when my mom and Kelly return from the store. So I went and took a shower. I got ready and when I came out here comes my mom and Kelly, rustling up a store being loud, were it was nice and calm and everyone else was just watching TV. I heard Kelly yelling for Julianna and I to come into the kitchen. When I got in there, there was mom and Kelly both holding up these brown and stripped orange OSU pajamas and T-shirts. At first I just looked at them with a blank stare and thought to myself ok cool. Then Kelly said they were big college football fans and on thanksgiving they have college football games, and it was OSU playing OU (OSU is Oklahoma State University and OU is Oklahoma University). So she wanted us all to wear them because they wanted to support their OSU pride. After everyone got changed into their new team spirit we left to go to Bambi's.

We get to Bambi's and I was shocked everyone was wearing red and white all that said OU. I found it very funny because they liked the exact opposite team that Tommy and Kelly like. But no one cared, we all just laughed, then Bambi asked me if I like OSU and I said I do not care I got forced to wear this and we both laughed. Bambi's family was very nice. It was Bambi's sister and her family there with Bambi. I liked it because there was another kid my age where him and I just went upstairs to play Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2. I was excited because I have not played this game that much and it was a lot of fun. After an hour of us playing games I got these wonderful smells of such Delicious foods all pouring into my nostrils at once. We both looked at each other, threw ourselves off the bed and ran downstairs to see if it was time to eat.

There it was, pounds of food all spread out onto the kitchen table. I was stuck in a trance just staring at this wonderful food. I rushed to grab a plate to start satisfying my hunger issues. Every one else was already at the table picking away like little scavengers at the food. After getting my plate I went to the table and there was turkey, corn bread, mashed potatoes, and gravy, every possible food combo was here at this table. I stacked mountains of food onto my plate and then went into the living room with every one else, because their football game has started and everyone was already starting to get riled up. As everyone else was just staring at the TV I was gorging myself shuffling spoonfuls of food into my mouth. It was fantastic I felt the tingling joy of happiness from my taste buds as the delicious food touched my tongue. All the different flavors at once, the juicy tender turkey was cooked perfectly, I was able to cut it with my fork. The steamed asparagus and garlic looked like little trees. My plate had turned into a masterpiece with its white mashed potatoes on the bottom looking like sand on a beach, then the asparagus sticking out making it look like my little island had trees in it. It also had the gravy flowing through the asparagus making it look as if it had a river flowing through my white sandy beach, short treed, island. This was not just food it was perfection.

Finally I had to stop, I could not eat any more as I felt like I was a round tennis ball with two little stubbed legs, I was stuffed. The other teenager and I went back upstairs to play games again because we did not really care about the football game. Finally after the football game was over my family left to go to Tommy's house. By then it was pretty late and I was so tired from the food that I ate. I waddled into Tommy's house and went straight to bed. It was a wonderful Thanksgiving and I will always remember how much fun I had. This is first hand experience to show how much food brings family and friends closer.

Above Bambi's family and Tommy

Above from left to right my family (Jerry, Tommy, Julianna, Violet, Kelly, Susie, and Jerrett)

From Generation to Generation (Final Draft)

One of the strongest memories I have started in my childhood and

continues to reoccur in my adult life. The memories of spending my early years in California with my grandparents, and even before those memories, I look at pictures of myself as a very hefty infant on a farm out in the desert in California. I'm being held in the arms of a very old man, a man well loved by everyone who is in the Hart family. I'm speaking of my Uncle George. Although I don't remember him

, I know from the pictures I see and the stories I hear that he loved me very much. Uncle George had leather-colored, sun-beaten skin from all his time in the desert sun. His wife, an incredibly frail but very loving woman, was of similar skin tone from all the time she spent in the sun alongside him. Everyone in the Hart family loved both of them dearly, and while they have both passed away, they left some things with us that in a sense make them live on in our lives.

Despite the long drive from the port of Los Angeles to the middle of the desert, my family did not mind at all. There was nothing like being loved on by this couple, and also, whenever we drove down the pothole littered, dusty road and all the bumps from the cracked pavement, we were not only greeted by very loving people, but by wonderful food.

Uncle George and Auntie Pauline spent a lot of time tending to their orange groves and other plants, but were phenomenal chefs. Uncle George was Armenian, and obviously being Armenian knew a lot about Middle Eastern cuisine. Falafel, Baba Ghanouj, you name it, he could make it. The one thing that everyone in the Hart family knows how to make and Uncle George is famous for even after his death, aside from himself, is his hummus. Now I can guess what most of you are thinking. You are probably thinking "Hummus? That stuff is disgusting. I tried it at Garbanzos, I tried it from Costco and the grocery store, it's all terrible." My response to those of you that feel that way is a humble: "Absolutely not."

The hummus we have here in the states from the super market is absolutely terrible compared to the authentic hummus I have known since I was able to eat. This hummus is hands down, the best I have ever had. It is so good in fact, that everyone who has tried it has not only been pleasantly surprised, but asked for the recipe to make it themselves! (Sorry, it's a rule that my grandmother has that this recipe is not to be shared with anyone who is not of Hart blood. You can try some! But don't expect us to tell you how to make it!)

To further reinforce my last claim, when I went to Israel this past summer and experienced hummus from Arabs and Jews, the hummus I enjoyed there was very similar to what I have known at my grandmother's house. You have not enjoyed hummus until you have made it from an authentic recipe. (Actually, from what I hear, not many people enjoy hummus when it is not authentic.)

The thought of my grandparents I instantly equate with memories cemented in my head. I do not know all of the names of the streets where my grandparents live, but I could drive there from memory from the countless times Southern LA has been my stomping grounds. The other memories cemented in my head involve her food. Along with her pickled vegetables, and my uncle's homemade salsa, my Uncle George's hummus is always on the same counter I have in my mind.

Back in the states, one of the first people I visited following my world travels was my grandmother. I landed at LAX, drove down the same highway I always do and got off at the San Pedro exit right by the port of Los Angeles and the Vincent Thomas bridge. I drive down the same streets I've driven down for 19 years and arrive at my grandmother's yellow stucco house. I smell the dichondria and the other vegetation my grandfather is responsible for up and down the street. The smells of these various plants is so entrenched in my brain that I can imagine it here in my living room. I hear the noisy neighbors next door and their kids screaming as they play, but smile, because I associate those noises of chaos with a sense of peace and contentment when I'm with my mom's family.

After our greetings, I am drawn to the kitchen by the familiar smells I equate with great food. I wait in the kitchen while my grandmother is preparing food on the counter. The food of the imaginary counter in my head is now on the counter in reality. My grandmother looks up from the pickled vegetables and my Uncle George's hummus she has just placed on the counter. Uncle George has lived and passed away. My grandmother has always been present in my life, but someday she too will pass away, as my mother will, and so will I. But all of those people will live on because of one thing we all had in common and was passed down the generations, and that is Uncle George's Middle Eastern cuisine.

Crepes: Delicious Delightful Memories (final draft)

When food is brought up only one thought comes to mind: mm... delicious. However, in my book only one food completely clears all thoughts from my head: crepes. Once I hear the batter sizzling away in a pan, no other thought stands a chance. Crepes rank number one on my deliciousness scale. How could this delectable delight be anything other than special? When food is added to memories it becomes extraordinary. For four generations my family has been mixing crepes with memories. My great grandmother taught my grandma, who taught my dad, who in turn, taught my brother and myself.

I will always remember mornings with every family birthday, holiday, and special event waking up to the wonderful smells and sounds of my dad in the kitchen cooking my most favorite breakfast. I would run downstairs around the corner, plop onto my stool, and set my chin on the counter. Dad would always have three pans cooking with one with crepe in each. I would stare, mesmerized by the continuous flow of one pan after the other having batter poured then swirled around the bottom of the pan so expertly. I know three pans might seem too much when cooking what is basically a paper thin pancake, but not in my house. For my family of five a quadruple batch is absolutely required. And nothing less than pure maple syrup and blueberries to go with.

I hold the memory of my 16Th Christmas most dearly. I was finally going to make the crepes. All the years my dad the cook and me the bystander were over. He was going to let me step in and give it a shot. When I arrived in the kitchen that morning, all the ingredients were out and ready to go. Starting with the flour and ending with the milk, my dad explained just how much of each to put in the bowl. One to one to one- was the ratio we followed. One cup of flour to one egg to one tablespoon of oil. Once all the ingredients were stirred together, he carefully poured a small amount of batter onto the bottom of the pan and started to swirl it around till the batter was evenly distributed. Then he took a spatula and quickly went around the edges of the crepe flipping it perfectly without fail. My first attempt did not go so well. I got the batter evenly spread but when it came time to flip, I ripped the crepe right in half, and I was overcome with disappointment.

"It's alright. It takes practice."

Since then I have mastered the art and taken over this most special breakfast ritual. I enjoy the memories served with the crepes I make, whether I am enjoying those crepes with a side of memories alone on a Thursday or on Christmas with my family.

Living A Healthy Life Now

***** Food has never really been a big passion for me. I like to eat but I really never loved eating. When I was growing up, I used to eat fast food, and sweets like fresh baked cookies and creamy ice cream. I was used to eating those types of food all the time but I didn’t know any better. I didn’t know about the junk they put in food until I got older. When I was younger I didn’t care about how I looked, I just ate what tasted good. When I grew older, I didn’t like the way I looked or felted, and I wanted to change my appearance. I wanted to look better and feel better about myself.

***** I started working out with at trainer at 24 Hour Fitness to get into shape and have more confidence about myself . Working out with a trainer helped me change my diet, gave me more confidence, and it also helped me learn more about nutrition and exercise. I learned about what types of foods were good and what types of food were bad. Before learning about nutrition, I knew about junk food but I wasn't aware of unwholesome additives in regular food, trying to make it seem like it was wholesome. Take a look at this Facebook post “The 15 Scariest Food Additives” posted by Eat This, Not That!. This Facebook site offers a lot of good alternatives to help us eat right. After learning more about food I have become more cautious about the food I eat.

*****After learning more about what was in the food I was eating I started to feel disgusted. I was eating many chemicals such as ammonia for coloring in the cereal Fruit Loops. I felt angry after reading about ammonia in the cereal, and I threw out the box. Junk food for me consists of candy, fast food, and snack food like fruit snacks (contains no real fruit). When it comes to fast food, it makes me sick just thinking about all the grease they use and extra sugar that they may have put in there. Whenever I eat fast food, I generally leave with an upset stomach and a grease coated mouth. Therefore, if I do eat fast food I try to get the most nutritious items on the menu like a grilled chicken sandwich and a fresh side salad.

*****Learning to transition from eating junk food to eating healthier was challenging. I changed from eating foods I used to like to healthier foods that didn’t always taste the best. Eating healthy doesn't have to always taste bad, and with the help of my trainer I learned how to make nourishing, low fat, delicious snacks and meals. Men’s Health magazine and their website menshealth.com has been a big help to me also. They helped me find healthy meals such as this yummy One-Skillet Chicken with Spinach and Mushrooms, and other information about health and fitness. Eating right can come at a high price to an inexperienced shopper but an experienced shopper will make inexpensive delicious nutritious meals. It can be very tempting to watch others eat what I used to enjoy. I started learning how to substitute junk food for healthy food. For an example, I like to eat ice cream which is full of fat and sugar but I learned how to substitute frozen yogurt which is half the fat and sugar, and the taste is almost the same. Although junk food is tempting, learning the benefits to eating healthy can change ones perspective on food like it did mine.

*****The benefits I have since changing my eating habits are achieving my weight loss goals, more energy and a better mood. Getting a gym membership also gives me an upper hand in continuing my active lifestyle. It has helped me gain more muscle and strength. When I was eating junk food I could not run a mile but now I can run more than a mile. Therefore, living a physically fit life and eating right can lead to a healthier society and would lower the obesity rates in the U.S.. In the end eating right and daily exercise can show some amazing results.

*****As I continue learning more about the terrible additives in my food it gave me a whole new outlook. Therefore, I have chosen a healthier lifestyle. I feel better about myself and my appearance since I been eating right. Some may say I am a health nut and go overboard with trying to eat right, but until they see what’s in their food maybe they will understand why I choose to live healthy. Maybe I don’t have a passion for eating food. but I do have a passion for wanting to learn about it. and wanting to teach others about it too. Hopefully, one day companies will stop putting junk in our food and substitute nutritious food. In the end, living healthy and wanting to live longer have made me a wiser and happier person all around.

Rude Meats And Loving Organics

Throughout my high school career I met thousands and thousands of people in school, at dances, at clubs, at restaurants, at parties, at the mall, at the movies, through friends...etc. Those few people who stood out the most to me, were those who were predominantly rude or loving.


Rude Ignorance And Loving Wisdom

One event, in particular, that has attached itself very well in my memory, occurred my junior year of high school (2010). I simply strolled down the unnaturally-empty main hallway of my school during seventh period. The hallway was, I would say, about fifteen feet wide, lined with elegant-beige-marble flooring. The hallways comfortably accommodate the thousands of students that slowly group up and migrate around each other in the passing periods between classes. As I got closer to exiting the west entrance, I was bombarded with a group of five jocks. Apparently feeling like they did not have enough walking space, two changed their paths to the right of mine, while the other three were lined side-by-side on the left of my path. As the oh-so-wonderfully popular boys closed the distance between us, the two closest to either side of me shoulder-checked me. These fools nearly knocked me completely on my butt, but because I had, at that point, three years of dance experience under my belt (dance requires great amounts of balance and coordination), I managed to keep myself from utter embarrassment. As if I was an animal I instinctively prepared myself, mentally, to more or less attempt to defend myself from being brutally beaten. Luckily, the boys were, well, boys. Boys are all talk, no game. The superior boys of our school, decided to continue slowly down the hall while one of them called out disparaging-ly, "next time move out of our way you faggot." I knew that they didn't use the word faggot very often, I had known four of them since the first grade. The reason they used that word, was for one specific reason --I had come out of the closet as a result of pieces of poetry, letters, and many other forms of writing I produced for my portfolio presentation in my creative writing class. One of those jocks, who used to be one of my best friends, also was in that creative writing class. Of course to keep his cool status he intrusively dis-reputed my luminous work from the heart, and injected the plague into student body.

A week or two later I, on my own terms, disclosed my sexual preference to my dance instructor because I was having a very difficult time dealing with all the issues that surrounded being so. Her name was Katie, and she had recently got married to the man of her dreams. Katie was about 5'1" with brown hair professionally put up in a bun and a very skinny body (when I say skinny, I mean she was a stick! Dancers do tend to be twig-thin...ohmygoodness, now I am stereotyping!). Katie was easily comforting, caring, and compassionate towards the subject-matter, she was/is much like a saint as she could hold the world on her shoulders with a smile and kind gesture. As if I were her own child that she loved more than anything else in the world, she confidently told me to always be yourself, push further than your own standards for success, and remember: homosexuality does not define who you are, it is only a mere fact about your sexual preference. Staying true to your heart will an auspicious future. Find what you have a passion for and through that you can provoke thought and change minds. --This was the initiation of a drastic change of the way I perceived the world.

Feeling almost meditated (with white doves flapping exquisitely around me) I let those words bore into my heart.For the first time in over a year, I felt whole. I felt peace. I felt love, for others and myself. An most of all I felt like a human-being. For over a year I didn't want to live with what my heart was telling me, though others tended to express aloud the abomination I was, I destroyed myself emotionally more than they did. I was a cheap cigarette that was enjoyed for a couple moments then tossed into the street to forever roll around aimlessly with the breezes until I was obliterated by weather, a shoe, or even a vehicle.


Carnivores and Herbivores

Continuing to create stereo-types, I have come to a conclusion that our personalities directly relate to what we eat. Thus:

Those who eat meat lavishly tend to have the traits of being ignorant of many things in life, having aggressive behavior, and having personal arrogance. As it has seemed to be, those who eat meat with almost every meal, and would dislike almost any meal without the presence of it, tend to be entirely rude.

On the opposite side, those who eat little to no meat tend to have the traits of being well-educated, having compassionate behavior, and being altruistic. As it has seemed to be, those who eat little to no meat, and dislike an abundance of it, tend to be perfectly loving.

My parents are a prime example of my theory. Throughout the beginning of my childhood my father was missing. When he was present he tended to be drunk, which constituted to verbal and physical abuse for my entire family. As he finally got out of his drinking habit, he was not completely horrible, but was still very judgmental of others race, sexuality, religion, etc. It was always embarrassing to be around this ignorant and aggressive behavior, so I tended to avoid him at every opportune moment. Take one guess as to what he favors most in his diet. M-E-A-T. My father absolutely loves him some sizzling steak or steamy pork-chops with a side of slimy hamburger or even stinky Rocky-Mountain-Oysters (bull testicles-yuck!). There was many arguments about not having enough cow in his expected meals. However, my mother has never had a big appetite for meat.

My mother taught me how to be a true gentleman, how to cry, how to love, and how to succeed, and so much more. She is a lovely person who does not criticize anyone for anything. As she taught me very well, there is never a reason to be mean, hurtful, or judgmental of others because what if you were in his or her shoes, and was does it accomplish in the end? You would be really depressed if you were different and others made fun of you. As you could have guessed, my mother is very sparing with her choices of meat. She prefers chicken or turkey over cow or pig, and always has vegetables, a pasta, or a salad to accommodate at least two-thirds of the meal.

Thinking back, those punk-boys tended to go out to the McDonald's or Jack-In-The-Box down the street, eating hamburgers, tacos, and the like for lunch. And on the other hand, Katie always had an organic and meat-less meal when she went out and grabbed something to eat with her proteges after long rehearsals. She was vegetarian. So we can continue to argue that those who eat meat do not promote the well-being of themselves or others as vastly as vegetarians.


Belittling Bums And Morphing Minds



After recalling the many memories of rude and loving people, I was able to correlate the personality of a number of the people with his or her diet. I definitely do not intend to say the every person's diet attributes to his or her personality, but to say that a person's personality tends to rule the choice in diet.

In my diet, I have always tended to avoid eating more than small portions of meat, if not avoiding the subsistence entirely. My identical twin, however, has a good appetite for meat. Growing up, I was always more sensitive and caring about everything, down to even trying to save the ants he would try to kill with a magnifying glass. I always saved my allowance and helped out around the house, while he spent my allowance and destroyed the house. Our personalities definitely had a correlation with our appetite for meat.

After years of finding myself, finding my love, finding what matters most to me, I have changed my diet to accommodate less and less meat. Though I have not gotten rid of it completely yet, mainly because I am still somewhat uninformed of how to get the sufficient nutrients my body needs. Being vegetarian is very difficult. (If you think about it, animals are a part of our moral community-which is defined as any living thing that can feel pleasure or pain.) I have, ultimately, become even more of a caring and compassionate person as I have easily progressed in refusing the repulsive muscle and fat we call meat. To further elaborate, I surrendered over 500 hours during my hgh school career towards volunteering for the elderly because of the nature of my personality, and therefore, diet. I have become almost completely organic, in a sense that I do not contain the normal pesticides and hormones of a typical crop, but I have been grown naturally to be a beautifully grown crop that benefits the environment around it and the people that can make use of it.

Though, I have changed a good amount, not every person makes this sort of change. There are still those individuals in each person's life that love to eat meat more than they could love to read a book, love someone or something, or even to take the time be empathetic or sympathetic of others. And most of those people may never change; they will forever be belittling bums. But those people who will positively affect the community around them (humans, animals, environment, etc.) will forever be morphing minds to think informatively and logically about the world as a whole. Conclusively, those people will create a domino-effect with the current generations to future generations benefiting others, themselves, and beyond! (it only takes one person to inspire the world-Weston Schutt)

untitled (Rough draft)

When food is brought into the picture only one thought comes to mind: mm...delicious. However, in my book there in only one food that completely clears all thoughts in my head when the sound of sizzling batter in a pan hits my ears: crepes. Crepes rank number one on the deliciousness scale. This delectable delight could not be anything other than special in the food category. For years my family has been making crepes. My grandmother taught my father, who, in turn, taught my brother and myself how to create such a wonderfully delectable food.

I will always remember every birthday, Easter, and Christmas, waking up to the wonderul sound of my father in the kitchen cooking my most favorite food. Evey time, I would come downstairs and watch him cook. He would always have three pans on, each with a crepe cooking away in it. I know three pans seem over kill when making what are basically paper thin pancakes, but not in my house. For a family of five a quadruple batch is more than definitely required when it comes to this decadence.

Christmas morning, after my 16th birthday, will always be my favorite of all the memories of crepes I have stored away in my mind. This was the day I finally got to really learn how to make this delightful food. All the years of just watching my dad cook way were over, he was finally going to let me step in and give it a shot.

When I arrived in the kitchen that morning every ingredient requried was already out and ready to be measured and mixed together. Starting with the flour and ending with the milk, my dad explained just how much of each to put in the bowl.

"Just remember, it's basically a one to one ratio; one cup of flour to one egg."

"Well that's easy to remember."

To this day I will never forget that ratio, and I will always be able to make these decadent delights. Since then I have taken over the making of this treat on birthdays, Easter, and Christmas. I have even expanded the tradition to outside my family and have been making crepes for other very special people in my life, on their birthdays.