When I was just a young boy all I wanted for Christmas was an Easy-Bake Oven. I was enticed by Hasbro's colorful, jingly commercials showing young kids baking little frosted cakes. My dad made it very clear that this was a girly toy and refused to indulge my "feminine" interest in baking.
In an attempt to reach a compromise, my parents bought for me a drafting desk. In their eyes the desk was a safe balance between a Barbie doll and say, a baseball mitt. It was actually a very nice desk, with a lid that opened upward and an attached lamp that moved on hinges. But it wasn't really what I wanted. I wanted to bake cakes.
Year after year I asked for the oven. I never got it. Later I gave up when I realized that I was old enough to start using the real oven in our kitchen. I somehow convinced my mom to enroll me in some youth community cooking classes I heard about at school. I told her that all the boys in my class were signed up. Without consulting with my dad, she hesitantly signed me up for the class. The class was taught by a plump Mormon housewife with a sweet tooth. We learned to make coffee cake (even though Mormons do NOT drink coffee), chocolate pudding, peanut butter squares, and cherry pie. It was fat camp in reverse and I loved every minute of it.
But I felt guilty enjoying the classes. I had lied to my mother about there being boys in the class. The truth was, I was the only boy in the class. I also felt like I was disappointing my dad, who relentlessly tried to get me interested in tossing around a baseball with him in the front yard.
As parental pressures accumulated, I eventually caved. I didn't want to let my parents down as the effeminate son who enjoys being in the kitchen baking fruit tarts or picking tomatoes in the backyard garden. I never joined the Little League but I was willing to compromise by joining the swim team. I could tell my dad was pleased to see me doing something athletic. Little did he know that my main motivation to attend those early morning practices was the sight of boys in Speedos. As I became more aware of gender expectations, I was compelled to hide the side of myself that enjoyed being in the kitchen.
In recent years my childhood fascination with food has resurfaced. Cooking at home and working as a waiter, barista, bartender, wine store clerk, and member of a food co-op has given me the foodie thrills I was seeking in my youth.
As a recent follower of the Slow Food movement, I am on a mission to explore my current food surroundings in New York City and beyond. Among other things, I plan to visit restaurants old and new, hold neighborhood potlucks and wine tastings, try new recipes at home, get involved in food activism, and travel to local farms and vineyards to get as close as I can to what we eat and drink.
I would like to use this blog as a journal of sorts where I will document my food findings and hopefully develop a diverse network of fellow "foodamentalists". All are invited to sit at the table to both partake and share new ways to experience and enjoy what we eat, with or without the use of an EZ-Bake Oven.
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