From 1989-1990 I attended The New York Restaurant School in Manhattan. I was intent, at the time, on opening a small restaurant with my Mother as my partner. My Mom died just before my graduation from culinary school so my plans changed – instantly. I found a job as a sous chef in a small, “New American” restaurant back home in New Jersey. I learned more from the CIA-trained chef there than I did in cooking school. It was a hard period of my life – working crazy hours and doing the work of grieving at the same time. But I will be forever grateful for that job. When I left there I knew that I NEVER, EVER wanted to be in the restaurant business again.
I started cooking when I was nine years old. My Mom was less nervous with me than she was with my big sister. When I expressed an interest in the stove, my Mom handed me the “Bisquick” box and the spatula, and the rest is history. From that moment cooking became a way of loving people. Making animal-shaped pancakes for my little sister became elaborate five-course dinners for friends in my 30’s. The evolution of the place of cooking in my life seemed obvious. But when something you love becomes “a job” it can suck the joy right out of it. Perhaps, there was more to it than that for me. It was complicated by the dream I had of restaurant of my own – a dream that had so much to do with my mother.
On Friday afternoon thirty faculty and staff from Saint Gertrude High School came to the convent in Richmond for an “Open House” in honor of our 140th anniversary. We rented tables and chairs for the backyard…white table linens and lots of flowers. It was a perfect day to eat al fresco. I prepared ten different Italian appetizers – the result of much tasting and reading in Rome. Everything turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself. (I am slightly embarrassed by how much I love my own cooking.) More importantly, I think our faculty and staff felt LOVED. I think our efforts at hospitality genuinely touched their hearts. That makes me very happy. How wonderful GOD is… Who knew that as a Benedictine sister, I could still make a gourmet feast every now and then? The day after the party, my back ached, and I was burned in at least three places. And, I was happy. I put out a ton of food in our small kitchen. It was, for just a few hours, like having my very own restaurant. I could almost feel my Mother smiling…
I started cooking when I was nine years old. My Mom was less nervous with me than she was with my big sister. When I expressed an interest in the stove, my Mom handed me the “Bisquick” box and the spatula, and the rest is history. From that moment cooking became a way of loving people. Making animal-shaped pancakes for my little sister became elaborate five-course dinners for friends in my 30’s. The evolution of the place of cooking in my life seemed obvious. But when something you love becomes “a job” it can suck the joy right out of it. Perhaps, there was more to it than that for me. It was complicated by the dream I had of restaurant of my own – a dream that had so much to do with my mother.
On Friday afternoon thirty faculty and staff from Saint Gertrude High School came to the convent in Richmond for an “Open House” in honor of our 140th anniversary. We rented tables and chairs for the backyard…white table linens and lots of flowers. It was a perfect day to eat al fresco. I prepared ten different Italian appetizers – the result of much tasting and reading in Rome. Everything turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself. (I am slightly embarrassed by how much I love my own cooking.) More importantly, I think our faculty and staff felt LOVED. I think our efforts at hospitality genuinely touched their hearts. That makes me very happy. How wonderful GOD is… Who knew that as a Benedictine sister, I could still make a gourmet feast every now and then? The day after the party, my back ached, and I was burned in at least three places. And, I was happy. I put out a ton of food in our small kitchen. It was, for just a few hours, like having my very own restaurant. I could almost feel my Mother smiling…
