When I was 3, my mom got me bathed and ready to go out. I was left in the kitchen and was supposed to wait until my mom was ready. According to the stories, I sat on the floor, open the kitchen cabinets, grabbed a half a dozen of eggs, cracked them open all over me and then added some oil to the mayhem.
When I was a bit older, I grabbed the pot of dulce de leche, which was open, lift it up and banged it into the table, causing the sweet goodness to go up to the ceiling.
From ages 8 to 12 I would chop up potato skins pretending I was making something yummy while my mom was cooking. More than half of those times, I would cut my fingers. After the 10th time, I would no longer cry or ask for my mom’s help, I would quietly go into the bathroom, clean it up and get a band-aid.
Around the age of 16 I develop an interest for baking. At that time I didn’t quite grasp the concept of creamed butter or mixing flour and butter until it resembled a coarse meal. As a result, all my cookies where flat and boring.
I would always come back for more, despite all the flat cookies and dry cakes. No matter how bad I was I always wanted to do more. Eventually, I realized there was something there. I moved on to savory foods, which allow more room for improvisation (aka – mistakes)
When I turned 30 I decided it was time to give baking another try. And by then, I was ready. All this amazing things starting happening, like magic! I would make this gooey mixes, shove them into the oven and 40 to 50 minutes later my house would smell like a dream and out of the oven came banana bread, lemon blueberry pound cake, scones, clafoutis, anything and everything was possible.
My career path evolved from ballerina to kinder garden teacher to therapist to diplomat. Finally I decided to go study Journalism but ended up making the change to advertising. By the time I was done, I knew, certainly and clearly, that I wanted the rest of my life to have something to do with, not advertising, but cooking. Or food. Either owning a deli with weird spices from around the world or a small bistro like you would see in Buenos Aires or Paris; 5 tables, that’s it. I started telling myself, that either way, I would go to culinary school, preferably in France, even if it was only for fun, and then I’d be on track.
So, little over 6 months ago I left home, searching. For myself, my wants, my needs, my fears, my dreams. And unexpectedly, life took the turn I always knew it was going to take; into the kitchen. So my life now consists of aprons and chopping boards and veggie burgers and food Pinterest boards. And making people happy through food, cause I’m half Italian and half Argentinian and the best way I know to say I love you is by putting a plate of food in front of you.