Welcome to Well Fed Weeknights

My dad owned a roadside diner when I was a kid, and my mom won just about every cooking contest she ever entered. I’m Lebanese on my Dad’s side, Italian and Slovak on Mom’s. All of which means that food was not “a thing” in our house, it was “the thing.” I clamored for cumin when most kids were pleading for pancakes. By the time I was in elementary school, I spent a lot of free time with a book in my hands, and I started to write stories and poems. I once wrote a poem about popcorn. I also started cooking my favorite “on my own” meal: Chef Boyardee ravioli fancied up with garlic salt, dried oregano, and Italian herb blend. I would narrate what I was doing to an imaginary audience, like a cooking show, while I crushed herbs between my palms and sprinkled them into the pot.