When I was growing up, I had little or no interest in what was going on in the kitchen. Then I lived in a dorm while in college and ate all my meals in one or another of the school’s dining halls.
Moving to New York City after graduation, I managed to eat out or take in almost every meal, including Sunday breakfast, which my husband, Bob, and I used to get delivered from a place on the Upper East Side called Mr. Chips.
If I had to pick the moment in time when I started cooking, I would say it was right after my older son, Sam, was born. I was 28 years old and remember serving Bob what I considered to be one of my specialties at the time, Stouffer’s frozen macaroni and cheese. His response – and these were his exact words – was “Never make this for me again.”
Thus was born the “Inspired Chef,” a title that I’ve slipped in and out of over the past 20 years.