For as long as I can remember, I have loved to tinker in the kitchen. Some of my fondest, early memories center around food. I frequently recall climbing up on my very own little foot stool in order to help my mother "need" bread, watching in fascination as my little hands were enveloped by a warm, flour dusted mass of dough. Similarly, I have fond memories of Sunday supper with my Nonna and grandparents. I was given the "grown up" task of walking from my grandparents house, next door to Nonna's in order to pick up the box of homemade, dried angel hair pasta. For my hard efforts, Grandma allowed me to help her gingerly lower each little nest of eggy noodles into the pot of water.
More recently, I have had the privilege to travel through parts of Asia and Europe on a culinary adventure. How wonderful and humbling it was to be able to learn about, and partake in, different cultures through their cuisine. Between my travels and the glorious food city that is New York, I have endless inspiration. Luckily, I have loved ones who are happy to each assign themselves to the role of guinea pig . . .