Food...
what a universal idea. It is one of the few things in this world that connects all people, regardless of where, when and how they live. Depending on where you live in the world, a meal can mean so many things to an individual. For me, a second-generation American and first-generation Texan, food serves as a hobby, even a passion. I like to think of myself as a connoisseur of less-than-fine dining on a college student’s budget. I treat every meal as an opportunity to stretch the boundaries of my palette while slowly, but surely, emptying my bank account (which was luckily never too full to begin with).
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Growing up, I was always a foodie. Born just shy of 10 pounds, my family tells stories of my first Christmas in which I disregarded opening my presents to walk around with a bowl asking for “blue chits”, or Cool Ranch Doritos. To not finish a meal would be an insult to my ancestors, an idea instilled in me at a young age by my very Greek yiayia, or grandmother. In the first 11 years of my life in Spring, TX, I could never eat enough TexMex. I believe that’s where my love of flavor truly began. When my parents relocated to Tomball, TX, I began to be exposed to true Texas barbecue, as well as the southern obsession with Chick Fil A. Once college came around and I moved into the city of Houston, I discovered true Asian cuisine. While I had always appreciated the sporadic trips for sushi and a good, cheap Chinese buffet, I had been living in ignorance. I began a love affair with pho, vermicelli, ramen and stir fry. But in the last year, I’ve been on a spicy kick. Tabasco, Cholula, wasabi, you name it. And that’s the beauty of food; even though you eat about three meals a day your entire life, one can never run out of dishes to try.