Congratulations to this week's winners!
We asked them both to answer a few questions about cooking and eating.
When I was about five years old, my grandfather took me to the old Union Oyster House in Boston – a place he happily lingered many an afternoon. He sat me up on the bar and offered me an oyster. I will never forget that taste – how surprising and briny and slippery it was. Over the years, he introduced me to picking Maine blueberries and the resulting cobbler, Nova lox (and asking the deli man for the salmon cheeks,) and his Sunday morning specialty, Onions & Eggs. Years later, and shortly before he died, we cooked lobster in black bean sauce, carefully following the recipe in Irene Kuo’s brand new cookbook. He loved food, and taught me to love it, too.
That’s difficult; sometimes I feel that all my memories are related to food, but at a pure basic level, the smell of chicken soup in my grandmother’s kitchen was the smell of love, and I try to bring that into my cooking.