Gotta start somewhere....

An interesting conversation with my husband this morning has lead me down the path of becoming a blogger.
"Why don't you write a blog?" he asked as I'm attempting to get our daughter's hair oh, so perfectly coiffed for pre-school.

"Me...write a blog? What could I possibly write about?"

Truth be told, I have in fact been toying with the idea of writing a blog. The question is...what is the content?
It dawned on me this morning that perhaps writing a blog would kind of be part self-expression, a dash of therapy and a place for me to blurt out all of my thoughts on food, life as a Mom, wife and daughter and my journey along the way.

So, hear goes nothing....

I was never the kid who was involved in sports or school politics. The one thing I knew growing up was that I loved food. Not just eating food, but reading about cultures and different cuisines. I don't know of that many 17 year-olds who would rush home from school just to watch Great Chefs of the World on Discovery Channel. My afternoons were spent drooling over the beautiful creations by these chefs half way around the world. Of course, I wanted to emulate the talents of some of the greatest chefs. I did with some successes and many failures....spaghetti pie, anyone? God, it had to have been torture for my parents when I really screwed up on a meal, but they supported my decision 100% to attend Culinary School.
My love for food and Charleston

In December 1998, a friend came home for Christmas vacation and told me all about his life in Charleston, SC. He was attending Johnson and Wales University and loved the Culinary Arts program. I hadn't even been on a single college visit, yet I was set to graduate in just a few short months! My parents agreed that a trip to the University was a great idea.

I remember the first night in Charleston I declared that I would move to this beautiful city regardless of my acceptance to Johnson and Wales. My love for Charleston continued to grow over the next few days of our visit. (The crème brulée at Charleston Chops might have helped.) I recall a trip to a local book store on Meeting Street where my Mom dropped serious dough on a new library of cookbooks for her budding chef. I was bummed to leave, but felt I was destined to return to the place that would eventually change my life forever.