I grew up thinking a lot about food. In my family food was a favorite topic of conversation. Hours revolved around procuring the best ingredients, researching recipes, cooking, and of course savoring meals together.
By the time I got through college I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, but I knew I liked to eat. I had a history with food. It was familiar. I found pleasure in it, so I just kept seeking more.
After graduating I spent some time in Latin America on the pretense of furthering my undergraduate work. But guess what I decided to pursue instead?
I figured out the secret to Chilean salad was sprigs of fresh parsley folded into thinly sliced onions and tomatoes. That the best Argentinian empanadas have an egg and whole olives hidden among the meat stuffing. And that dulce de leche pairs really well with bananas in ice cream.
It made sense to throw myself headfirst into culinary school. Why waste my time with anything else? Five years in the restaurant business, six as a private chef, and my standards for a good meal kept getting higher.
Until one day, not too long ago, I decided that I had enough.