As I was on the train heading back to Chicago from a nice Thanksgiving with friends in Ann Arbor, Michgan, I had a thought about how childhood experiences can mold us if we allow them.  
For some folks, hanging onto a childhood memory can be sweet and comforting.  There are fond memories in one's life where you want to remember those moments, cherish and treasure them, hoping to one day even replicate them with your own children or friends.


Like I've mentioned before, my mother and I - for our many differences and strong personalities - always found common ground in the kitchen.  For hours we would make these incredibly complex Vietnamese dishes and in those hours we weren't at odds; we were a fluid, cohesive team with a mission to make a truly delightful meal.  In my whirlwind childhood, but for those moments in the kitchen, there was peace.


Today, after all these years of discovering my love and talent for cooking, I can pinpoint it back to a time in my life to the very core of why.  I suppose that's why I've started two dinner clubs in Dallas and Chicago, and why I find myself on a lonely night, or after a tough day at work, being called into the kitchen.  Sure, I go there because I need to feed myself and to stir up my culinary creativity, but more importantly it's to connect with one of the few fond childhood memories I remember.


Perhaps it's this time of year that I become introspective.  Maybe it's the fact that living in a new city has left me to my own devices.  Or, because around the holidays people are more nostalgic.  Whatever the reason, I'm grateful to have had even this one special memory from my childhood that I can appreciate for what it is.  I'm thankful that despite the differences my mother and I have, we still share a deep love of cooking and eating.  It doesn't matter that it's just a couple things we can agree on; the fact that we can come come together is good enough for me.


Happy holidays, y'all.