Food, Glorious Food

I love food. Always have, always will. My aunt called me a black hole when I was younger because I ate so much. Food is glorious.

I remember going out towards Nixa to watch fireworks on the Fourth of July. We parked in the back of a Braum’s parking lot, and my cousins wanted ice cream. Normally, their parents would say no, but my grandpa was nice enough to buy all of us some. I remember walking into the store after my grandpa, and leaving with a small Styrofoam bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

And around that time my grandpa gave me my first drink of coffee. It was all black, and I was five. He laughed so hard when I spit it out right there in his front lawn- he thought it was so funny when my face scrunched up at the bitter taste. Now, I’m an avid coffee drinker- I even stole some of his over the summer.

Right before Christmas one year, my aunt decided she was going to make cookies for everyone. And when she makes cookies, I’m her helper. I actually did practically all of it, but she helped when I was tired of stirring the dough. We made at least four batches of cookies that night.

When I was younger, I hated eating eggs with a passion. Normally, we’d have them scrambled, but I still hated eating them. The texture threw me off, I think. So I would drown them in ketchup. I’m still not a fan of ketchup, so I mainly use salsa now. Eggs are still really weird for me, I kind of mindlessly hate them.

 
Well, I could probably go on for about ten more pages, but the point will be the same. Food is love. Food is life.