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When I walk into my kitchen today, I am not alone. Whether we know it or not, none of us is. We bring fathers and mothers and kitchen tables, and every meal we have ever eaten. Food is never just food. It's also a way of getting at something else: who we are, who we have been, and who we want to be.
My husband loves bean soup, cornbread and green onions, food he grew up on. I grew up on meat an' taters, but marriage to him and the influence of vegetarians/vegans in the family have taught me that meat is better if it's scarce, and veg are various and delish.
All our picky eaters have grown up and have developed wide-ranging tastes. I wonder if I ever walk into their kitchens with them? I like to think I do, and in a good way. :)
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