Learning to love food

Once a week, my parents took me to the Chinese restaurant up the street for dinner. I looked forward to the one night my father would come home and not feel like cooking, although if it was a Thursday and The Cosby Show was coming on, I would try to rush us through dinner so that I wouldn’t miss a minute with the Huxtables. Priscilla always preferred moo goo gai pan, and she and I together would frequently talk Dad into moo shoo pork. His favorite dish was probably pork chung king, or maybe Mongolian lamb. Anyway, the weekly visit to Peking Pavilion was our tradition and I grew up eating really good Chinese food. My dad still makes the best fried rice I’ve ever tasted.

Food was pretty important in our family. Both my father and Priscilla were excellent cooks. Dad usually cooked weeknight meals after work, but Priscilla was the Master Chef for all holidays and special events. She was also a supremely talented baker – she made me the most gorgeous birthday cakes that were decorated like something you would see in a high-end bakery. Priscilla put exceptional effort into her cooking and she wanted us, understandably, to appreciate this. We were expected to dress in formal attire for holiday meals or birthday celebrations, and I was taught impeccable table manners at an early age.

At first, I didn’t know any differently and I did as I was told. As I grew up, however, I became more reluctant to put on a party dress for Thanksgiving. Some years I would purposely spend Thanksgiving with my mother simply to avoid all of the pomp and circumstance of Thanksgiving With Priscilla. The food wasn’t as elegant, but the atmosphere was definitely more relaxed. I guess that for most things in life there is a happy medium. I probably should have learned to apply this to holiday meals, but one of the benefits of having divorced parents is having options at holiday time.

Once I was old enough to have a say in the matter (probably around the time I obtained a driver’s license), I always split Christmas: morning/stockings/presents with Dad and Priscilla, afternoon with Mom at my aunt and uncle Lani and Larry’s house, and eventually dinner and/or dessert back at Dad and Priscilla’s. Priscilla made these incredibly gooey cinnamon yeast rolls every Christmas morning. They were so sticky and delicious! She always made two options – as a child, I strictly avoided the ones with nuts, but as an adult I learned that the nutty rolls were small gifts from heaven.