Upon occasion, I mentally attempt to answer the above question. I have, not yet, gotten very far. I hope, I can share some of my thoughts here and perhaps, put it together for myself, as well.
The first time, I blogged was in June 2009 on my blog, Chaya's Comfy Cook. I did love that blog but was having problems with my computer and Word Press. When, I decided to leave, I couldn't do it so I opened My Sweet and Savory and also shared on Comfy Cook. My real goal was to build the new blog and I put my efforts here.
I have met, all kinds of bloggers, some who want to write a cookbook, others who want to raise money on their site, others who want to go into professional cooking or are already in it. Then, there are the home cooks who share their lives and their dishes.
Some foodie bloggers are competitive and others just enjoy themselves. I am the latter. I am a very competitive person but that has not been my goal here. I want to enjoy this experience, get to know others interested in food and improve my skills and awareness of "New" foods, for me.
As I look back, I am shocked, at my ignorance of food and cooking. I wonder why I ever joined in blogging as a foodie and not an educator. I love teaching, methodology, planning and the kids. It would be fun to immerse myself in a education blog.
That is not what I did. Instead, I took something I have done for years but with little commitment and no creativity. When I married, I could boil water and that is about it. I know, you are sitting there and thinking, "Yeah sure". Everyone can do some cooking. Not me. Hubby taught me to work the washing machine and to make the most basic foods.
My Mom wanted to do everything herself and rarely allowed me to help, in any way, and I definitely thought she did not think, I could not do it correctly. That is so sad which is the way I felt. I did make the most of it and hung out with my friends instead of helping. I had fun.
Somehow, I got some cookbooks, early in our marriage. I have no idea, if they were gifts or I purchased them. It obviously was not a momentous occasion, in my life. I did look through them and made some easy dishes that we ate and my gut tells me that eating them was a mark of success.
I do remember vividly, one night, working on a chopped meat and pasta casserole and dropping it, taking it out of the oven. I don't want you to think, I am clumsy; rather my oven door open about 3/4 of the way before it hit the refrigerator. To top it off, it was in a corner. That did not help the new cook.
My first kitchen was small. I could stand in the middle and touch all four sides (the sink, fridge and cabinets). It was a little square with room for one person, a skinny person, who didn't want to do anything challenging because she had nowhere to start. This photo looks large compared to my memory of the room. Certainly, it did not have all those shelves.
We lived in that apartment for three years and I even had a largish dinner party. What I cooked is a mystery and how anyone ate it, is more of a mystery. We did have friends over and we did eat. I do wish, I knew what I served. Considering my limited number of dished, I knew how to make, it was probably the same thing, each time. Who knows?
We moved to a house then, a few weeks after, our neighbor upstairs moved to the same community. This is digressing but this neighbor was an interesting one. Every night, we would hear one shoe fall. We hardly knew them, at that time, and had some strange scenarios in our heads, as to what the one shoe meant. I kept an eye open for a one legged person. The truth - one shoe landed on the floor and the other on the rug.
We also shared vents in our kitchens so if they talked, we could join in, the conversation. No, we didn't do that and neither did they. We did finally meet and became good friends.
On the day, we moved, we invited them to dinner and I actually cooked something. Can someone tell me what is wrong with that scenario? What was wrong with me? Why didn't I ask her to invite us to dinner? I must have been a pleaser, in those days.
Over the years, I added to my recipes and even started making my own bread and of course, cakes and cookies. You would find me, babies in tow, kneading bread in that tiny kitchen. That was before celiac entered our lives.
This seems like a good place to stop and also, I looked at the clock and it is 11 PM. Time for me to call it a day. I owe you a second installment.
To be continued.