Raison d'Eat-re

When I was a tiny infant in Rome, swaddled in a stroller I mistakenly termed a "cappuccino" - a logical response to my mother's habit of procuring one every time she asked me if I wanted to "go for a cappuccino?", I ate very well. My mother fed me tablespoons of olive oil and refused to allow me near a jar of baby food, choosing to puree fresh vegetables and ladle them into my mouth. I learned to shun junk food in favor of spinach sauteed with garlic and olive; I was the only two-year-old in the annals of the human race to enjoy brussel sprouts. Throughout my childhood, growing up in Rome, Paris, and New York, I was indoctrinated into that strange spiritual sensuality of food - the notion of food as experience, rather than substance. 

Then I went to college.

For three months, I ate nothing but English breakfasts, quick panini, and kebabs. The strenuous nature of life in Oxford allowed me to fit into my jeans, but I grew sallower and sallower even as my wallet grew lighter and lighter.

Staying at friends' parents houses over the holidays reminded me of what food ought to be: sit-down, healthy meals with ingredients pronounceable by the English tongue. But I am a student with a student budget and student time. I can't cook a fantastic meal for twelve.

Thus, the experiment. I have a minifridge with a freezer compartment, a two-hob countertop stove with oven, and the ability to order cheap food in bulk from Tesco's. What follows is my experiments in cooking like my mother. And failing. But hopefully producing a few recipes along the way.