Childhood clues that you'd become a foodie...

[Chris Amirault]

Here are my daughter's clues. She's only 3.5, so I'll type them for her to record them for posterity. 

1. At the Indian buffet, she had 3 servings of goat curry.

2. Last night at a Chinese buffet (she likes buffets), her favorite thing was the octopus. "This is deLICIOUS!"

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Brace yourself, Danielle: most of the research on kids and food suggests that, when your kid hits five or so, she'll likely not only deny that she ever liked these things but will regress all across the food board. Don't push -- that's the best way to make sure she hates the stuff! -- and hang in there until seven or eight, when she should be back on the foodie track.

[scordelia]

Here are my daughter's clues. She's only 3.5, so I'll type them for her to record them for posterity. 

1. At the Indian buffet, she had 3 servings of goat curry.

2. Last night at a Chinese buffet (she likes buffets), her favorite thing was the octopus. "This is deLICIOUS!"

←

Brace yourself, Danielle: most of the research on kids and food suggests that, when your kid hits five or so, she'll likely not only deny that she ever liked these things but will regress all across the food board. Don't push -- that's the best way to make sure she hates the stuff! -- and hang in there until seven or eight, when she should be back on the foodie track.

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This is very apt! My almost nine year old used to eat anything and loved it all, then entered a picky phase, but he is becoming adventerous again.

But back to the topic at hand, what were the first signs you would be a foodie? There is a photograph of me at age 2 at the party after my baby brother's christening. I am all dressed up in a smocked dress, bow in the hair, etc and I pulled a stool up to the buffet table and proceeded to eat my mother's homemade pate with a spoon.

[C_Ruark]

... I'm not a foodie; I'm a gourmand.

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And I am a gastronome .

Fave TV shows as a kid: Bugs Bunny, Yan Can Cook (that's one funny chef), Great Chefs, and that "funny-lady with the weird voice" whom I now revere, Julia Child.

My observant parents stopped buying me toys and gave me a wok for my 9th B-day.

- CSR

[lesfen]

Oh... Great Chefs!! Still my favorite. No egos (well, at least not shown), no annoying host yakking and butting in, no BAM. Cable didn't come to rural Ohio until 1989 so I didn't catch that train until I was in junior high.

[daniellewiley]

Here are my daughter's clues. She's only 3.5, so I'll type them for her to record them for posterity. 

1. At the Indian buffet, she had 3 servings of goat curry.

2. Last night at a Chinese buffet (she likes buffets), her favorite thing was the octopus. "This is deLICIOUS!"

←

Brace yourself, Danielle: most of the research on kids and food suggests that, when your kid hits five or so, she'll likely not only deny that she ever liked these things but will regress all across the food board. Don't push -- that's the best way to make sure she hates the stuff! -- and hang in there until seven or eight, when she should be back on the foodie track.

←

She got picky about a year ago, but it's for things that are really silly. Like, she suddenly hates oatmeal. Hopefully she'll take after me and never quit trying new things. The octopus she requested - she thought the pieces were pasta, and asked for the "noodles that Poppy is eating." I told her it was octopus, and she didn't blink.

[Pan]

[...]Fave TV shows as a kid: Bugs Bunny, Yan Can Cook (that's one funny chef), Great Chefs, and that "funny-lady with the weird voice" whom I now revere, Julia Child. 

[...]

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I was a fan of the Galloping Gourmet when I was in first grade. He put his food on fire!

[Really Nice!]

I was a terrible first grade student and was forced to do my homework at the kitchen table while mom made dinner. I found that I could get out of doing homework once or twice a week by complimenting mom and her cooking, and then asking if I could help.

The 2nd clue was on TV, also while in first grade. I'd get home at about 3:30 and watch Julia Child's The French Chef on WTTW and then switch to Speed Racer on WFLD, which was followed by The Galloping Gourmet. I couldn't understand why all those women in the audience made strange faces when Graham Kerr made stuff. I guess his menu was a bit unique for the '60s suburbia.

The 3rd clue was that the first book I bought with my own hard-earned money was the Peanuts Cook Book. Best 60¢ I ever spent! I still have it.

[snacky_cat]

One of my favourite toddler pasttimes was sitting on the countertop next to the spice cabinet and sniffing my way through the whole rack. I think my fate was sealed from that moment.

[crosparantoux]

I grew up eating the mix of Asian and immigrant cuisines of Hawaii, mixed with Alabama southern cooking (don’t ask). When I was 8 we traveled all over the US for 3 months. Because the food was so shockingly different, my defense was to eat only steak (maybe prime rib) at dinner, as simply prepared as possible. Looking back now, I see that in those three months I learned to appreciate how a single ingredient can be cut differently and cooked (or ruined) through various styles of cooking. Now when I travel, I go out of my way to eat whatever will best reflect the local nature of where ever I happen to be. My youngest daughter, tiny as a fairy, will only eat prime rib (“blood rare”) or steak (“blue”) when we travel. She’s headed in the same direction.

[racheld]

In addition to the Sunday dinners I snuck away from church to go home and prepare at a very young age, I also fed quite a few wandering fellows in my early days.

We lived four houses down from a railroad track---my most delightful time of day was when the City of New Orleans stopped to take on fuel. I would run down the block, climb the enormous, swooping trails of wisteria vine in the last neighbor's yard, and peer into the dining cars, all alight and bright with white napery and the coats of the smiling waiters. I thought it the most wonderful, the most romantic, the most elegant thing in the world to be able to sit there in that small space, with lovely shining silverware and china, and be one of those happy, beautifully-dressed passengers enjoying their meal.

So we also became a haven for the far-from-home-and-hungry. I truly believe there WAS a mark somewhere on our property, because seldom did a week go by without a shabby, polite man or two appearing at the screendoor, hat in hand, asking if he could "do some work" for a meal.

My Mother always cooked a big Southern noon dinner, and the leftovers were warmed over for our supper, along with any added dishes we might prepare. So when one of the men would ask in his polite code for something to eat, Mother would dish him up a plate, add a hunk of cornbread or two slices of lightbread, along with a big dollop of homemade preserves or jelly for dessert. Beverage was a quart jar brimming with strong iced tea.

On the occasions when she felt that the dinner might not stretch into extra meals for unexpected guests and our evening meal as well, she would get out a small skillet and fry up two big eggs, straight from my Mammaw's henhouse. Four slices of Wonder Bread this time, spread with Blue Plate mayonnaise, the hot buttery eggs slid between, a good sprinkle of salt and pepper. That and the requisite scoop of home-canned preserves made a fine meal for a man needing a bit of help to get home. For several years in my early childhood, we also had gallons of free milk from Mammaw's cow, along with fresh-churned butter, so a quart jar of cold milk would serve nicely to wash down those hot egg sandwiches, and add extra nourishment, besides.

So, a couple of times when she was out for the afternoon, and the knock came on the door, I bade them to sit down out in the shade at the picnic table, and I cooked the egg sandwiches and poured the tea or milk. We had very close neighbors and everyone looked out for all the children, so I never had one moment's fear of walking out that back door with the food and drink.

I guess I've fed half the world by now---lots of teenagers and hundreds of young soldiers, thousands at parties and weddings and dinners we've catered, but none have been quite as satisfying, somehow, as being ten and walking out that dusty screen door, hearing it slam shut behind me as I used both hands to balance and navigate down the steps to the backyard, carrying a plate of warm, greasy egg sandwiches and a quart of iced tea to a hungry man far from home.

Edited June 15, 2005 by racheld (log)

[MaggieB]

Rachel what a wonderful story and a precious memory!

[bleudauvergne]

I would like to second the thanks - I truly enjoyed reading that. Thank you. Any more kid memories of food?

[Carrot Top]

So, a couple of times when she was out for the afternoon, and the knock came on the door, I bade them to sit down out in the shade at the picnic table, and I cooked the egg sandwiches and poured the tea or milk.  We had very close neighbors and everyone looked out for all the children, so I never had one moment's fear of walking out that back door with the food and drink. 

I guess I've fed half the world by now---lots of teenagers and hundreds of young soldiers, thousands at parties and weddings and dinners we've catered, but none  have been quite as satisfying, somehow, as being ten and walking out that dusty screen door, hearing it slam shut behind me as I used both hands to balance and navigate down the steps to the backyard, carrying a plate of warm, greasy egg sandwiches and a quart of iced tea to a hungry man far from home.

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Your words are evocative of a time past that seems magical, and in ways it was.

I can taste those egg sandwiches that you write of, see the slightly browned edge of the egg white and the thick pliant bread that surrounded them. And I can feel the pride of the ten-year-old girl who walked out of the house with the stance of a lady to feed the hungry man that quietly waited.

These images of a time when things seemed to be safer for a child. . .times when a child could walk out into the street and trust. . .are immensely moving. And the tastes and memories of the simple food that was a vital part of life and not a fussy demanding thing is a gentle reminder of how even the most basic ingredients can be the most nourishing in the most important of ways.

When I read of these past times, at first in response after reading I grow upset and angry, and wonder at how it is that things have so changed that I cannot conceive of a ten-year-old girl doing this in this time. I truly feel despair over how the sense of safety is gone for so many children. But then, I can hold onto the memories that you have written, and can tell myself, If it happened then. . .it can happen again. . .it just has to do with some small focus given to it each day by anyone and everyone to try to re-shape the reality.

Your memory is precious. I would hope that many more children could have this experience, with food and with the ways it can give succor of all sorts, comfort in infinite variety, and self-assurance that will grow a person strong and good.

[Katie Nell]

My parents probably knew I was going to be a "foodie" and an interior designer, both of which I am, because they always said, "Oh, don't wait for Katie... she's just decorating her food!" I would always be the last one eating because I was the last one to get started... gotta make it look pretty! Oh how I loved squirt bottles!

I knew I was in trouble when I went to a friend's house when I was little and there was canned frosting and canned tamales.... WHAT IS THAT?!!? I didn't know frosting came in a can! Yuck!

[Ducky]

At the age of five, when we were living in Germany, my parents told me that I could have anything I wanted that year for Christmas. The German economy was booming - and I guess they thought I might ask for a bicycle or some such thing.

Well I asked instead for a full brick (probably about 4 kilos) of Limburger cheese all for myself. And I got it.

[racheld]

Guess I hadn't looked in on this thread for a while, and hadn't seen the kind words. Thank you all...a word or a phrase or a relating of a circumstance, and my memory chip just kicks in, pouring out way more than is needed.

But those moments, those days are so brilliantly inscribed into all that is me, I think of them occasionally, with more than nostalgia for a time that is past. The news MAKES the world too much with us, and it is still a miracle and mystery that the simple preparation of a sandwich or a cold drink can be a part of a blessing in many ways that other, greater things cannot.

We left a restaurant several months ago, in the rather cold evening--my husband, our visiting son, and I, and passed a man sitting on a narrow ledge outside an adjoining store, which was closed. We asked if we could go and get him dinner; he pointed to the Arby's down the street. We asked what would he like and he replied that he couldn't take food from us, but he would appreciate it if we would just go there and pay for some coffee and a sandwich. We offered him a ride with us; he refused, so we waited in the parking lot until he walked the couple of blocks and settled into a booth. Hubby and Son went in and sat with him until he had ordered a couple of sandwiches, coffee, and a couple to go for tomorrow. They paid the check, and we left him there, a small, wispy-haired soul blowing into a paper cup, as I looked out the back window.

So to the subject: When I was a very young child, all my friends played "doll" or "school" or various run and play games...I organized counters and dishes and pretend cookstoves and skillets, channeling Ramsay right and left, sending this one and that out to gather grass, acorns from which we separated the tops into little bowls and cups, and the best, cleanest mud and sand for ingredients. We would mix and stir and bake, then decorate cakes and pies and cookies beyond Colette Peters' imagination.

My Mammaw sent everybody home the day she caught us sitting with little bowls in our laps, painstakingly shelling the almost-microscopic little "peas" from the slender hanging pods of her precious cleome bed. We sucked honeysuckle blossoms for the nectar, raided plum thickets and blackberry rambles, held buttercups under our chins, and could not be warned away from the hive-filled wall which adjoined the diningroom in her tiny house. Bees had moved in years before, and you could see the ins and outs of all the workers, entering and leaving by way of several holes in the siding.

I ALWAYS wanted the adults to "raid" the honeycomb, but we never did, and when they tore down the house when I was a teenager in order to build my grandparents a new one on the site, I was on a trip with my class, and missed the whole thing!! I could, however, "charm" a bee into letting me take her back outside, away from the siren-call of the lightbulb at the end of its long ceiling-string. My Grandpa would cup his hand upside down near the frantically-buzzing bee pressing her backside to the lethally-hot bulb, slowly slide it up and between her and the light, close his fist softly, and release her out into the night air. I was determined to learn to do that, so I practiced every time I went to visit, if there were a bee in the room. He said, "You just have to think hard how much you love that bee." It worked, and I released several of my own over the years. He could also do that with a wasp, but no way on this earth could I ever love a wasp THAT much.

[MomOfLittleFoodies]

For me, it was sitting and watching cooking shows on PBS with Mom on weekends, and reading cookbooks like some kids would read the toy sections of catalogs. My parents didn't have the means to expose us a lot of exotic foods, but they made sure we knew it was out there.

Also, my mother and maternal grandfather were avid gardners, and we often had seasonal fresh produce... garden fresh tomatoes, peppers, persimmons, kumquats, loquats, pomegranates, tangerines, zucchini, cucumbers...

I remember sitting on the front step of our house, with a nice fresh cucumber and a salt shaker... mmmm.

[Terrasanct]

This seems a fitting place for my first post here. I've been reading but there's so much to read, I'll never get it all done.

My family was always interested in food. I grew up in Seattle back before it was considered to have a cuisine of its own, but we spent hours fishing, picking blackberries and hazelnuts, and digging clams. We always had apple, pear, and plum trees and a huge garden. We rarely went to restaurants because we had a large family and a small income, but we ate the freshest and best food then. Even had a milk cow and made butter and yogurt. I never knew how spoiled I was to come home from school and make a porterhouse steak for an after-school snack.

Because the freezer was full, of course.

My mom was working on a cookbook for most of the years we were growing up, which was never published. But whenever she was working on a particular chapter, we got to test the recipes--stinging nettles (very good) homemade graham crackers and corn chips, seaweed soup, and a lot of even stranger things. Once a week the kids would take turns making dinner; we'd make a shopping list and the whole family would go out to get the ingredients.

My favorite reading material was the Joy of Cooking. I liked reading about cuts of beef, for some reason. Maybe it was the illustrations. I also enjoyed the stories about extravagant things like boiling potatoes in pine sap, something I knew I'd never try.

I don't cook as much as I used to, as my children are all grown, but it's nice to know that at least a few of them enjoy cooking as well. One daughter plans to open a bakery/cafe in Hawaii some time in the future. I like to look at cookbooks and food writing. I love On Food and Cooking, Steingarten, Bourdain, and I just finished Ruth Reichl's latest book. I want to be her new best friend, as long as I can go to dinner with her.

Unfortunately, my husband doesn't care much about food. He's a picky eater, and has a long list of things he doesn't want to eat. He can't tell the difference between instant potatoes and fresh. At least he likes chocolate.

I live in Montana now, which truly doesn't have a cuisine of it's own, unless you like steak and huckleberries. There's no Pike Place market here, so I have to make do with visits home.

It's nice to be here with the other people who like to eat.

Edited July 27, 2005 by Terrasanct (log)

[Pan]

Great first post, Terrasanct!

Any chance your mother's cookbook will still be completed? One great thing about the times we live in is that anyone can web-publish a cookbook, and if it's good, it'll get publicity on sites devoted to food like this one.

[Terrasanct]

Great first post, Terrasanct!

Any chance your mother's cookbook will still be completed? One great thing about the times we live in is that anyone can web-publish a cookbook, and if it's good, it'll get publicity on sites devoted to food like this one.

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No, I don't think so. Her sister who was working on it with her passed away a few years ago and my mom's getting old, too. I was going to take over for her, but it was so dated that it really wasn't applicable anymore. It's sad, but just the fact that she was working on it gave us a lot of culinary adventures that we wouldn't have had otherwise. The book was about frugal cooking; I think they were going to call it Nail Soup, and it was going to be a large cookbook. The name comes from an old story (sometimes known as Stone Soup) that most of you have probably read--what to cook when you think there's nothing in your pantry.

That and growing up in Washington spurred my interest in wild edibles. I like the idea of free food. I've made a lot of jellies from chokecherries, wild plums, crabapples, and the like. I'm always looking at the weeds in my garden, wondering which ones I could eat. I've tried to threaten them with the information that they, too, could end up in my salad.

[Pan]

Things that are dated are retro now, no?

Certainly, I know the story of the stone soup. And then there's also the story about the fierce king and the onions and garlic...I know there's a thread about food tales somewhere....There's also a thread about wild foods somewhere, and you'll also undoubtedly find fifi's blog about foraging the Texas Gulf Coast well worth reading. I did.

[Lone Star]

The summer of my sixth and seventh years, I was a devoted fan of "The Galloping Gourmet" . I had a little notebook where I would dutifully and frantically try to write down what he was saying. Obviously, I did not understand what he was making most of the time and could not keep up as evidenced by my addition of "One teaspoon vanilla" to a pate recipe.

My earliest memory is looking at the girl on the Clabber Girl baking powder tin while my granny made biscuits. I would get up as soon as heard her feet hit the floor and go to the kitchen to watch her. She would always make me coffee milk. I miss her.

We traveled a lot when I was a child as my father got transferred quite a bit. On the first pass through London when I was eight, I remember looking at the menu and ordering roast beef with Yorkshire pudding because I thought it was dessert! After getting a doughy thing instead of a sweet, I determined never to be fooled again and would ask the waiter questions.

My sisters would order things like hamburgers no matter what country we were in, but I was always up for anything, and still am!

I would guess that for may of us the spark of possiblity and excitment with cooking caught our imagniations at a very young age.

Cooking is exciting and one of the joys of living that we get to experience every day.

Edited July 28, 2005 by Lone Star (log)

[Terrasanct]

Pan, that's really interesting. I'd love to know someone here who is familiar with all of the wild plants. I keep asking my husband, who was born 50 miles from here, but he doesn't know any of them. I accumulate books about wildflowers and edible plants, but I'm usually too cautious to go out and pick anything! Berries are the exception, since I know what most of those are. I know I have some edible weeds in my garden--common mallow seedheads are shaped like little cheese wheels and are edible, but it would take forever to gather many of them, since they're tiny. Here's a photo of common mallow:

http://www.cees.iupui.edu/research/restora...mmon-mallow.JPG

As a teenager, I read a book on survival skills, which mentioned the many uses of the cattail--food, shelter, and fire making. I learned that a kind of dough can be made using the pollen and ground seeds, and that the young shoots can be eaten raw or cooked, and the immature "tail" can be roasted like corn. I've only tried the shoots, which were really quite good.

My husband thinks I'm a bit crazy when we're off in the wild and I start eating wild berries. He thinks I should leave them for the bears, anyway.

[Philanthrophobe]

I hated candy and ice cream; loved olives, mustard, salami, and fresh fruit.

The first cookbook recipe I ever mastered was Bunny Salad from the Betty Crocker Boys and Girls Cookbook when I was six--and I made it night after night after night, until one evening when I overheard my father groan to my mother, "Not the goddamned Bunny Salad again!" At that point, I moved on to the Joy of Cooking's easier salads.

[OnigiriFB]

I could tuck into 2 dozen oysters by the time I was five.