Rather than spew into a cliched analysis of culinary magic, I am going to get straight to the point.
This blog is the brainchild of many (most often failed) culinary exploits, late-night-food-blog-lurks, plenty of ravenous eating, and a few too many trips to Whole Foods. It represents every blender explosion, undercooked lemon square, and burnt fondue I've spawned in the kitchen, over the years* I've spent cooking. Essentially, it is a way to document these affectionately named "Awkward Years" of my culinary life. You can expect Feast to give you insight into the uncomfortable, voice-cracking, pimple-faced, gangly-armed period of my gastronomical life, during which I have trouble distinguishing spices from one another, and can only barely give a straight definition of braising. When I am eating brunch with Mark Bittman many years in my future, I will look back on this and laugh.
[* By years, I really mean the few times my mother has given me free reign in the kitchen and not had a panic attack. In all truth, this has probably been about 4 times, three of which were in secret. ]
Some day, I will be great. My cakes will rise perfectly, and my steaks will be perfectly pink in their centers. I will be a free-standing culinary maven, rivaling The Great Martha herself. But until those days, many years from now, there will be feast.
Feast began something like this:
Nearly a year ago, I had no idea what a food blog was. Food alone was often a mystery. I knew that I ate it. I knew it tasted good. I knew that my dad told his colleagues that my mother made it very well. I knew that my mother would always blush, and then tell him how he was setting high expectations for dinner parties.
As far as blogs, I had had my dabble with them in the past. (I believe I had a Dollz site, and made alot of Mandy Moore layouts. This is beyond the point) A mere year ago, putting them together would have seemed absurd.
But then, one faithful evening, my mother discovered something magical. I remember it well: I was about to go to sleep, and my mum was using the computer. This was something strange, I thought. My mother usually stays away from computers, and thus, this was something of a milestone. Like a lurking wildcat (Where did that come from?), I pounced, and ran into the computer room to investigate.
"Look at this, Sara!" My mum called. "Its called food porn and..."
I covered my eyes. I prepared to run. But then, just as I was going to wash my brain out with bleach, I looked at the screen. And there, my friends, was my first glance at a food blog. I don't believe it was pretty. I don't even remember what it was. But there it lay, shining on my screen: a grand photo of a juicy hamburger, and short story about it. I gasped.
And then my mum explained. Food porn, she said, was a directory she found, showcasing an array of mysterious FOOD BLOGGERS. She said it with embellishment, like they were of an unknown species. One after one, we clicked through the directory, feasting our eyes upon pages and pages of writing. It was bliss. (Until, of course, my mum tried to find the same directory the next morning. I'm sure you can only imagine the tragic result, after rushing onto google to find 'Food Porn'. Shock Horror.)
And now, after contemplation, obsession, and some fine-tasting meals, I have decided that it is time to venture into the fray.
My name is Sara, and this is Feast.
