The Food Evolution

Sometimes when I'm feeling old and introspective, much like one might feel in the last week in her 20s, I think about how I've evolved as a person over the years. Sometimes it’s easy to track down specific events or circumstances that have shaped me into who I am or who I hope to become, but other times it's just not that clear. Over the holidays, my family and I discussed my food beginnings - that is, when was it that the tides really changed for me, when cooking and food became such an interest to and a part of me. My answer to this was easy: it all happened while I was in law school.

What started as hosting dinners for my study group first year blossomed into creating a quasi-bakery (Delectables) out of that old Spokane kitchen and acquiring a nickname around school (Martha Stewart). Reading hundreds of pages of case law every week and surviving the Socratic method in class, I would often find myself stressed or overwhelmed with the sheer volume of material and figuring out a way to make it stick just long enough to endure each and every one of those three-hour finals for six semesters. A coping mechanism, baking soon became my escape. It's not that I didn't enjoy law school - I loved it - but sometimes my brain just needed a break from the chaos. I suppose in a way, when I received that J.D., I not only had gained a legal education, I gained a culinary one too.

While I was so sure that I had absolutely no interest in cooking until law school, I came across some evidence recently proving that my food beginnings started much earlier than I had thought. About a month ago, I grabbed my pink diary from my memory box at my parents’ house that recorded the exciting life and times of Allison Ruecker in 1992 (May 12: “Dear Diary, I know I’m really boring, but a lot of these pages are really short. I never have any thing excitng.”) I was hoping when I opened this diary that the pages would reveal information about my old classmate of whom, 19 years later, I now call my beau, but after reading all 365 entries, his name wasn’t uttered once (sorry, Gabe). While some pages were filled with fascinating stories of our pet lovebirds nesting or my struggles with juggling in PE, much of the time I would tell my diary (or my sister, who would steal it to read and write messages in it) that I had nothing to say. I recorded the most mundane of events and kept things short and simple (April 21: "I had a really good piano lesson. That’s all. Bye."), but what I found most interesting was how often I would mention food. And no, I was not a fat kid.

Beyond discovering that I found the topic of what my mother made for dinner to be noteworthy on several occasions throughout the year, I also unearthed documentation suggesting I was cooking as a 10 year old. Take note of July 15: “Today I did a little cooking. First I made strawberry short cake. Then zuccini bread, and then some cookies. Natalie and I went on a bike ride, while Rachel went to a pool party. My Uncle Cory came and we had spaghtii. (Oh yeah I made the sauce.”

And then the very next day…

July 16: “Today went to Royal Oaks with Natalie. We went off the diving board about 50 times. I made pigs in a blanket for dinner. I burned myself. OUCH!”

I may not have been the best writer or speller back then, despite an entry showing that I must have been (February 19: “I’m so happy I got first place in the class spelling bee. That’s about it, well got to go to sleep.”) But it’s good to know that my skills have improved since the early ‘90s (they have, haven't they?) and that my interest in food and culinary experiences date back much farther than I had realized. How funny that just T minus 5 days away from my 30th birthday, I found the last entry of my diary to read: December 31: “…Well, guess I have to say good-bye to this diary for good. I might not open this till I’m 30, I don’t know. Happy New Year and hope I have a nice 1993!” Here's hoping the same goes for 2012.