Now as I mentioned, it was 8:30 am and 102° outside at the local java joint, and the AC was already struggling to keep up with the demand. I happened to be sharing one particular vent with a few dozen other desperados as I began typing out my next ice-cream recipe, visions of frosty-cold Meyer Lemon & Blackberry Sorbetto dancing in my head. With one hand, I reached for my Grandé Nonfat Vanilla Iced Latte, and with the other, a quick click of the mouse that led me to my emails du jour. I had to read it twice to be sure I wasn’t suffering from a mild heat stroke impairing my vision, but there it was, plain as day…the Mustang Friday Night Potluck Schedule with ME on the Italian Theme Team! Italian?? But that’s not my specialty! And I’m French/German, NOT Italian or even Mediterranean in the slightest, unlike the rest of my ‘Spaghetti Squad!’ And to have to think about oozing Mozzarella and Manicotti with cream sauce for 75 underfed football junkies right now was simply not okay! So I just chose to do what any smart business woman/mother of three would do…close my Mac and worry about it in October (17th to be exact)… let the rest of ‘Team Tortellini’ take over and maybe I’ll bring a nice salad with Italian Vinaigrette!

      Well as you’re reading this in the first week of November, I’m sure the burning question is, “did she call Antonello’s? Sarducci’s? Peppino’s?” I CERTAINLY DID NOT! (but I thought about it!) No, I actually rose to the occasion early the morning of the 16th with a tasty recipe developing in my head for the morrow’s feast, then began the Mustang version of preparation by painstakingly traveling from market to market to procure 10 lbs each of the freshest vine-ripened tomatoes, sweet Vidalia onions and organic Italian Turkey Sausage. Additionally, 5 lbs of red bell peppers, 6 heads of Gilroy-grown garlic, 5 lbs of un-grated Mozzarella, Asiago and Parmigiano (never buy grated cheese, its coated in unnecessary preservatives!) and countless bunches of fresh green basil, thyme, rosemary and oregano would complete my shopping list. Early next dawn, and clad once again with my Grandé Latte and 4 full-sheet disposable tin pans ready for layer-upon-layer of home-made “Lasagna di Barrette” – I was ready to start prepping for a Tuscan touchdown!

      The kitchen began feeling more like a working Italian Farmhouse, the aromaticos wafting through the neighborhood all day long as the ingredients melded together in harmonized structure, each ingredient complimenting the other…some stronger, some less pronounced, but none of which the job could be done without…Mustang style. It wasn’t that horrific, after all, those hours of chopping, dicing, slicing, sautéing and simmering, and it became evident that Friday night, that everyone on ‘Pesto Patrol’ had put the same effort into their dishes, and I could not have done it without my team, and we would not have done it without the good faith (and email savvy) of our team mom. Feeding the Mighty multitudes that evening was clearly victory…goooooo Mustangs!

      In (several) past Relish Cooking articles, I’ve expressed that summer is not my fave, but despite implication, I promise not to ink another word of disdain for the sharp, beating rays of that burning inferno-ball of fire that is technically 6 billion miles away, yet makes its home right in my backyard fire season after fire season. No more loathing banter of those long hot days that feel like months, where its heat is inescapable in all but a walk-in fridge. Don’t expect another cook’s rambling of how all things fresh quickly become rotting compost and somehow the solar giant even zaps the energy from our bodies leaving no amount of AC, SPF or ATM capable of eluding its wrinkling effects. Yes, it is expensive, intrusive and ages you far before you deserve - but this summer, I will be singing, not cursing, ”You are my Sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy, when skies are grey…”

      You see, summer DID come too fast for me, but not because of the arrival of one blazing blood-sucking orb. Its actually the departure of one very petit little fireball that has changed my tune this year…its the exodus of my only daughter, my little sunshine, to make her mark in this world in just one short week.

      Oddly, I find absolutely no correlation between the larger and the latter objets du soleil. True, they are both sparkling stars in the universe shining brightly for all to see, but other than that, the expensive-aging thing is just a metaphor of my intolerance at this point in life, right? Au contraire, my daughter, in her minor imperfections, has also managed to make herself at home in my backyard, and not just during the fire seasons we call summer. There may have been one or two Coppertone occasions on a Tuesday in March where “going to school that day would have been a total waste of time because they weren’t doing anything all day.” How seven teachers can orchestrate such a lazy day is beyond me, but if that’s what my little girl says…it MUST be so, therefore I say nothing about it, except (carefully) that I need my credit card back. After all, I wouldn’t want her to get upset and accidentally spill that suspicious-looking “iced tea” on her new bathing suit (was that Burberry?!) would I? And besides, she made her famous mouth-watering vanilla caramels, hand-wrapped in tiny pieces of parchment paper…a treat that is well-worth every sticky ounce of clean-up I did later!

      Okay, so there has been the occasional cloud, er…small thunderstorm every now and again, but the rays of light (and those darn caramels) have far outweighed the category four hurricanes over the years. For example, one rare day recently where all 3 kids and I were at Ruby’s for lunch, the moppy-haired 10-year old brother teased the 8-year brother over a game of hangman. On the back of his paper menu, he announced line-by-line “Noah is a mushroomhead” to which I wittily responded, “Austin, with a head of hair like that, you’re not one to Shiitake!” Well, I guess you had to be there, but it may have been the first time my daughter and I belly-laughed so long and hard we had tears in our eyes and it was a moment I will never forget… a moment I will never get back again, so I conclude by finishing the song I have sung hundreds of times as the sun would set…but this time, my sweet sunshine, I mean it more than ever…”you’ll never know dear, how much I love you, so please don’t take my sunshine away.”

“New Year’s Eve?” you ask. “But what about Christmas, Hanukkah Kwanzaa or even Boxing Day?! Surely you agree these celebrations far outweigh an evening of decorated dunce hats and drunken midnight smooches! You dropped the Times Square Ball on this one, Heidi.”

Allow me a moment to clarify. Yes, these dates of Gift Exchange absolutely are monumental merriments. People all across the world have embraced the spirit of giving with countless historically based reasons to do so, thus creating this one large joyous slice of the year we now call “the Holiday Season.” What each individual family is celebrating, however, is specific to their lifestyle, and is done so with such vast uniqueness, it would be impossible to talk food to everyone.

Christmas, for example, is a holy expression between a man and his Maker. It is the remembrance of the day that Christ Jesus, God’s son, was born to this world as a man, an honored day in my home. Kwanzaa, meaning “first fruits” in Swahili, was founded in 1966 by an African-American named Ron Karenga and observes seven days of celebration, each dedicated to a different “Principal” celebrating black heritage and ancestry. The Jewish season of Hanukkah or “Festival of Lights” commemorates the eight-day jubilation of the rebuilding of the Temple of Jerusalem, where one day’s worth of oil miraculously burned all eight days.

Now, I could offer you traditional tips and recipes like Cider-Glazed Christmas Goose with Cumberland Sauce or my old college roommate’s tried-and-true Latkes. I might possibly even throw caution to the Santa Anas with a Tanzanian fruit salad, but why attempt to re-invent your wheel?

And THIS is exactly where the Annual Grand Finale comes to play. With everyone’s halls decked a different color, the only day I’m almost certain we can all agree on this December is the day that 2007 becomes 2008. It’s the last sentence in your 12-month story that demands far more respect than the customary hat and kiss. In fact, it completely merits catered Hors d-Oeuvres, Champagne, shimmery new dresses and more! The great common denominator across the globe is new hope and fresh aspirations for a better tomorrow. So as the old Scottish hymn suggests, ring in the New Year reminiscing the good memories of family and friends, but as tradition suggests, clutch your list of resolutions and savor the magic of this season with style, panache, and lots of French Bubbly.

Although its location on the calendar has moved throughout the centuries, US Congress in 1941 permanently fixed the Thanksgiving date to be the fourth Thursday of every November. While the Thanksgiving menu has changed from venison, fish and roasted pumpkin to turkey, stuffing and pumpkin pie, the customary gathering of friends and family for the feast prevails year after year. The only thing that could perhaps be in jeopardy is the very thing we are supposed to be celebrating…the solitary reason that our God-fearing forefathers declared it a national holiday…the one, single, quintessential definition of Thanksgiving…to give thanks for all that we have!

So what exactly then, are we celebrating? Why spend 15 minutes per pound to roast a beast the size of a small car? What’s the motivation behind commissioning grandma to a long day of pie-baking, dad to his famous stuffing, and a visiting cousin to a case of Octoberfest? It’s a point worth pondering this season as we reflect on some of the devastating happenings of late. Fires, drought, earthquakes and hints of recession are all valid and very real reasons to simply show up just before ‘The Carving’ with canned cranberries this year, but that just wouldn’t be any fun.

You see, Thanksgiving is the opportunity - the choice, really - to celebrate our thanks regardless of who we are, where we came from and what we do. We’re all HERE and that’s the point. We have homes that get the newspaper delivered and eyes to read it. Most of us have people in our lives to help us when we’re in need, and please join me for a moment of reflecting deep gratitude for the freedom we are all enjoying by living in this country. Let us never forget what our countless global neighbors are experiencing that we’ve been protected from for hundreds of years. It is overwhelming to think of how blessed and how fortunate we are, even amidst tragedy.

A few days ago during the worst of the fires, my kids and I were assembling care packages for a large group of children who had been evacuated from their foster home when I got a phone call from my friends at COTO C.A.N., Deanna Vochelli and Kim Melsheimer. They had also heard about the situation and moved quickly to help. “Heidi, we need to feed all the foster children and their staff! Can we get you to cook a meal for 50?” Volunteering is so rewarding and I will testify that there is hardly a greater feeling than to see the faces of those in real need light up when you hand them a home-cooked meal.

Despite all that may be happening in your own world, can you think of someone you know who doesn’t have a home or is struggling to pay their bills? Do you have a neighbor, friend or family member who lives alone? If you don’t, any church, school or community organization like COTO C.A.N. can give you a list. What better, more rewarding way to celebrate our harvest, our bounty, this year than to bring them a bag full of groceries, a hand-picked bouquet of flowers with a little money or a meal and an invitation to your Thanksgiving table. Then, with your very best linens and china, with your favorite recipes and traditions, with each guest contributing their special touch, throw a banquet and really, truly give thanks just as they did nearly 400 years ago!

Johnny (a.k.a. dad) and the rest of the Brossa Battalion, down to every last great-grandchild, will attest to the one revered day where the family matriarch transformed her little home on Belshaw Avenue into something more along the lines of a Norman Rockwell version of ‘Nightmare before Christmas.’ Antique cauldrons and witches’ brooms, hand-carved pumpkins and darling dolls of snaggle-toothed old women with tall black hats staged her lively lair. Spiderwebs and big postcards of black cats hung in each window with the faint orange glow of a candle, while flea market treasures, old and new, proudly adorned every interior inch.

Yes, Grams romanticized October 31st, saving her little pennies throughout the year for the entire event. Not just because her seven little angels got to let their tails down, but to her, there was something delightfully magical about that crisp fall night when barren maples cast silhouettes against the giant moon high in the sky. When creaking old elms showered their leaves into heaps below for spooky things to hide under (like her dog Gaucho). It was a night when all the town children would come-a-knocking, and she would greet each one – her beautiful silver hair a natural accompaniment to a hand-stitched cape - not with a frightful scare, but with a genuine cackle of joy as she handed even the tiniest fairy princess and the grimmest of Grimm Reapers a carefully-chosen treat.

Now - this is just an observation, but things seem to be done a bit differently in this neck of the woods. First of all, its typically quite HOT here in October, with a slight chill after the sun sets…hard to decide between the Tinkerbell or thick furry kitty costume. Next, we’d be hard-pressed to let our children trick-or-treat “out there” on their own, so its just as well for us to leave a plastic pumpkin full of Hershey bars on the well-lit porch with a little sign announcing “Please take ONE.” And the most observable distinction between here and there, then and now, her and us, is perhaps the entire spirit behind it all. Mad rushes to crammed costume warehouses, bulk candy and evil masks on the doorstep are mere markers of a new and somewhat desensitized era.

Now, many of you may not participate in this particular holiday at all…I’m not a huge proponent of it myself, what with the whole Pagan festival roots and such. True, I spend an entire evening hand-bagging novelty & old-fashioned candy with hard-to-find toys. Admittedly, we all get dressed up and walk the block together while a grandparent or auntie hands out the goodies to the ghouls in the hood, and just for the record, coming home with loot that would discredit Bonnie & Clyde has NOTHING to do with my sweet tooth, but that’s neither here nor there.

The point is, we so often miss the mark on how to celebrate a special occasion. Whether that day happens to be Halloween or simply a “Fall Fun Night,” whether its Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Easter or even a birthday. These are rare opportunities that merit a just a little extra thought. We are creating lasting – no, permanent – memories for our children here…why not relish whatever it is we’re commemorating with a personal touch…a stamp of who we are?

By simply taking a second to ask yourself what is important to your family during a particular season of time, your answers will likely lead to unexpected inspiration... perhaps even spawn ideas to begin new traditions of your own. We like to save the seeds from our carved pumpkins and oven-bake them with herbs and seasonings. The kids then bag them up for teachers’ gifts the next day with little tags proudly announcing “made with love from the Barrettes.”

Whatever the occasion, however big (or small) the brood or bank account, you only live once. Children are only children for a few short years, and each year that passes is a chapter in your book that will be passed along to generations after we’re gone. I know I want my children to be excited to tell our story, just as much as we love telling little Grams’ story. Happy Halloween!

Based on this constant meal quest in the name of “research,” one may venture to compare the number of memorable meals I’ve enjoyed with the number of calories in a Big Mac. There is, however, a far less impressive number than 560 associated with my personal experience of what I refer to as “culinary brilliance.” I can honestly count these precious moments on one hand (making a peace sign).

I’m not talking about great or even phenomenal meals…not genius-on-a-plate episodes prepared by world-class chefs (although nonchalantly inhaling the Pear Almondine prepared by Julia Child in ‘93 may be worthy of its own article someday).

I am, in fact, referring to the type of moment that is to never again be relived other than by accidental daydreaming or onset by the occasional waft of a familiar scent or song. This is the kind of experience that brings a trace of sadness at the mere effort of trying to recapture it…you know you were there…you know what you ate and who you were with, but the instant is gone. It is but a fairytale in your mind that no author can ever capture and the experience is best described as ‘tragically fabulous.’

A couple of years ago, I landed in New York City with a dear friend of mine, who also happens to be a great and passionate cook, where we prepared for a road trip from Manhattan to Poughkeepsie to attend a week-long bootcamp at the Culinary Institute of America. We were both thrilled to go on this several-hour-long drive up the Hudson River in the middle of fall, as neither of us had ever experienced the ‘turning of the leaves’ – something that words cannot describe.

Just before heading out of the city, hungry and unfamiliar with our surroundings, we discovered an amazing underground market in Grand Central Station, bustling with vendors and shoppers exchanging coin for brown sacks of cheeses, wines, hand-carved meats, fresh baked breads and a pluthera of produce, not to mention cured olives, chocolates, pastry, salts, oils, herbs and so much more! We packed a $300 lunch, complete with a rare bottle of cabernet and made plans to stop along the river on the way up.

Hungry as we were, we drove for hours, breathing the sweet country air, enamored by the beautiful gold, orange and red canopy that loomed above. Then the early afternoon sun began sprinkling diamonds on the meandering river and soon our reserved appetites began to grow. As we intensified our efforts to find “the perfect spot” to pull over and enjoy our gourmet picnic, “something” seemed to stand in the way for at least another 50 miles until we finally pulled off at a numbered exit that looked unpromising, at best – but with growling groin and Camembert “ripening” in the trunk, it was time to eat, even if in the parking lot of a 7-11.

As it turned out, however, fate led us to a storybook ending. We decidedly pulled off the next exit and came upon an old mansion-turned-museum where 3 Amish volunteers from the Historical Society were getting ready to close the doors for the weekend. We paid for a quick tour and asked if we could stay on the grounds for just a bit longer so we could eat and rest before the last leg of our trip. One of the lovely bonnet-laden ladies not only obliged us 30 extra minutes, but sweetly pointed out the window to a picturesque lake surrounded by willows and maples, complete with a picnic table and - get this – swans! So, to the imaginary tune of “A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes” (Cinderella) we gathered our provisions from the trunk of the rental and raced to the edge of the lake where our dream awaited us.

Out came the stinky cheese, the $100 bottle of wine, the sweets, the savories and the warm bread. We drank from the bottle, piled layers of flavor together with a twig, and licked every last bit of sticky brown sugar from our dessert, saying nothing, then the unexpected grand finale…it began to rain!! Gentle sheets glistening over the lake, highlighted with the sun’s last warm rays…what words could we have said to each other? It was a very moving moment, a joyous gift that we’ll never forget.

A few months ago, I wrote of an Indian feast our family enjoyed with a beautiful woman before she passed, and memories like that are exactly what puts a smile on my face as I remember her – my mom. I share this with you, not to be a storyteller or suggest you mimic these events, but more so that you can relate to the beauty and importance of a precious, solitary moment when it happens to you. Perhaps it already has – and what do you do when its over? You could write about it or share it with your loved ones, but I think it best to simply savor it, relish it and be grateful for it, happily ever after.

In these moments of solitude, I’ve become aware that as a result of having entire networks devoted to food at our fingertips, our culture now has ample opportunity to heighten its culinary skill level without spending a first-born at the CIA (Culinary Institute of America) or working 12 years on the line.

For example, in the old days (the 80’s), I’d be excited to enlighten the virgin minds of caffeine addicts that frothing skim milk is far better than frothing whole milk for your morning café au lait, and that it’s due to monoglycerides & diglycerides in milkfat (two substances in whole milk that destabilize air bubbles, causing them to pop quickly).

Then moving forward to a declining, yet somewhat intact era of food innocence (the 90’s), although Martha begins showing every housewife west of Madrid how to knit party favors while your 6-layer cake cools on racks hand-made from wire hangers - there still remains some mystique to the secret world of the spatula.

But getting caught up to today, the new millennium has hurled ample education at us via podcasts, cable, satellite radio & dedicated publications in gastronomic proportion. Great, right? Well, yes and no. Having a fortitude of “foodstars” divulging every recipe option for truffle oil and fennel bulb, for free, understandably takes away a bit of that cookery magic, making all of us, in a sense, gastronomes. These days, one can’t go to a Michelin restaurant without hearing the mechanic next to them questioning chef’s choice of sear-time on the fois gras. “Bobbie-Jean, I reckon, I still prefer the way mama cooks them with our CATTLE, over this-here ris de veau.” Of course, this visiting southern gentleman is referring to his preference of cow vs. veal sweetbreads.

Some cooks don’t want to let just anyone “in” to the cult-world they’ve claimed since birth and have spent years artfully mastering. How is it fun if everyone knows your mojo (and can at times, be better)?! Maybe I’ve lost some of you, but the point I’ve tried to make here is that there may be a few minor annoyances to this 24/7 telecast of behind-the-scene kitchen code-breaking.

On the flip-side, however; there presents a legion of happy, refreshing faces, so excited to share “good eats” with us, WE should get excited about filling our grocery carts full of ingredients for Rachel’s “Super Tuscan Burgers” complete with EVOO (did you know that her newly-famous acronym for Extra Virgin Olive Oil is now officially in the Webster’s Dictionary?). Good for her. Cooks and chefs like Rachel, Giada, Bobby, Mario and Ina are working tirelessly to bring the American public (and beyond) ways to beautify and simplify our lives. How can that be wrong?

So, whose side am I on anyways? I teach cooking classes, case in point. My own knives bear the name of my pop-cuisine TV hero, Alton Brown! I rely on him to explain why baking my angel food cake with room-temp eggs produces a better rise (cold eggs don’t whip as well, resulting in dense batter). And Alton has single-handedly validated the use of real fat vs. fat-substitutes in our favorite recipes – the old” sour-cream-vs.-chicken-broth-to-whip-your-mashed-potatoes argument.” (Substitutes often lead to dissatisfaction, which leads to overeating. Fats satisfy, breaking down in the digestive track very slowly keeping us fuller longer, thus: eating less.) Good enough for me.

Of course Alton, who, like others with your best interest in mind (not mentioning names, but rumor tells of one local with a cool website you’d absolutely relish) also wisely practice moderation. Oui, the educators of today are genuinely out there striving to produce the healthiest, freshest options along with their fine skill of adding flavor, texture & presentation, resulting in a happier, healthier audience, an audience free to enjoy skim lattes because Paula showed them how. And if that very audience is growing to span the globe, maybe we could all stand to squeeze Flay and Lagasse into the 9-minute meditation.

1. Children under the age of 12 must remain outdoors until the sun goes down (encouraging “creative play”)
2. Unless separated by (salt) water, walk. (promoting exercise and good health)
3. All animals and/or children must have complete access to all areas of the neighborhood, (hence, the term “free range”).

My favorite shared philosophy in our humble zip code, however, by virtue of living far from markets and stores, was always “waste not, want not.” In fact, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if over half of the block had a kitchen plaque displaying this daily reminder. We were amongst a population of hunters, farmers and fishers that proudly passed the freshest of island bounty from family to family. Local-grown coffee, fresh-caught Ahi, macadamia nuts picked from our backyards and every possible tropical fruit and vegetable were definitely ours to consume, but never to waste. Aside from an occasional “treat”, life wasn’t full of fillers. We didn’t have pantries stocked with chips, cookies, candy, crackers and pop tarts …we ate what we grew, or what our friends brought to our doorstep, and found creative ways of consuming every last bit (a novel idea). Food, any food, got thrown on the hibachi for grilling and what we couldn’t finish, mom froze and later disguised with two ingredients, calling it some fancy Hawaiian name like lau-lau. It was a conservation technique that worked like a charm.

Now fast-forwarding a couple of decades and traveling several thousand miles east, I’d be hard pressed to find many ‘a fellow farmer who’ll be dropping off ice-packed coolers full of mangoes and Ono out here in Coto; however, I do have a slight habit of being a little over-zealous at Farmer’s Markets and the likes. Coming home with several bags chock-full of beautiful fresh zucchini, lettuce, apples, herbs, and anything else in full season is not uncommon for me. The challenge isn’t knowing what to buy, so much as what to do with it before it all rots. Refrigerate plump, sweet peaches? Blasphemy! Freeze 5 pounds of Wild Copper River Salmon? NEVER!

But what is this? You’re staring at 4 wilting yellow beets that called your name from the organic display and now you’re dying to hear my suggestion of how the heck to make them edible?! Well here it is…I’m going to give you one simple suggestion. Whether its green and savory, colorful and sweet, land, river or sea…just GRILL IT!
The smoky flavors that develop as food cooks over fire are about the tastiest I can think of, and grilling is just about the easiest preparation known to mankind.

Here's a few simple, but very delicious, suggestions and tips to grill just about anything (plus a recipe for those poor beets) and at the end of the day, you can hang your little plaque with pride as you watch the kids devour speared cold grilled asparagus in basil-olive oil, lemon & sea salt (my version of leftovers).

TIPS TO GRILL JUST ABOUT ANYTHING

Zucchini, summer squash, cabbage, broccoli spears, thick slices of sweet onion, whole bell peppers artichoke, bok choy and even leafy lettuce like red leaf or romaine are delicious when cut in half or quartered lengthwise and generously brushed or rubbed with a mix of olive oil, fresh squeezed lemon and sea salt then placed on a pre-heated grill. For added depth of flavor, add finely minced herbs to the mix like rosemary, thyme, tarragon or dill. Once nice dark grill marks develop, simply turn with tongs and repeat. Cut into large bite-sized wedges and toss into angel hair pasta with a tablespoon of butter, a splash of Marsala wine & a little extra salt.

Disks of pineapple, halved (and pitted) peaches, plums, mango & figs…even a bamboo spear loaded with ripe red strawberries name just a few of summer’s sweet delicacies that are just waiting for you to set on a nicely-oiled hot grill for a few minutes on each side, drizzle a bit of honey or 6-year aged Balsamic then top with a Tablespoon or two of Crème Fraîche (Bristol Farms) and finely chopped fresh mint…yum!

All root vegetables and nearly any fish can be thrown in a simple tin-foil “pouch” with a nice slab of butter, a good sprinkle of sea salt & fresh-ground pepper and chopped herbs, then set directly over charcoal or on the grill until caramelized and slightly charred (about an hour for root veggies like peeled & quartered carrots, beets, parsnips, potatoes or 20-30 minutes for fish such as salmon, halibut, Ono, swordfish…less for lighter fish such as snapper, cod, tilapia & sole).

How is this opening subject matter, you wonder, fit for a Food Column? Well, a bit of nostalgia is always good reading, but more importantly, the general theme can be applied to our very own population of teens emerging into post-high-school life. True, they may be from different cultural, social and economic backgrounds, but in the end, they will all be set loose into the same big world with the same basic goal; to begin forging paths of their own, and - here’s the reality check - largely based on the tools we’ve given them along the way. That being said, I naturally refer to tools of the cooking kind.

Our seniors are soon off to college, off to apartment-living, and let’s be honest; off to little white Chapels and Baby Gap! I’ll venture to say that if they can’t grill a turkey burger today, there isn’t much hope of them hosting the family Thanksgiving a few years down the line. In fact, our youth has generally come to accept cooking and preparing meals as out-of-date, unimportant and essentially, a “lost art” that has nothing to do with their lifestyle.

Here’s a short list of youthful rhetoric vs. some interesting, logical points that may truly help your teen understand and appreciate the significance of planning, budgeting, shopping for and cooking real food:

TEEN
"I can just live on fast food or restaurants."

PARENT
"Preparing your own meal vs. 'eating out' is cheaper, and YOU are on a budget!"

TEEN
"I eat like a bird, it’s all about picking!"

PARENT
"You won’t always eat like a bird…trust me..."

TEEN
"Hello-oo, no one cooks in a dorm room!"

PARENT
"Hello-oo, you won’t be living in a dorm room forever!"

TEEN
"I’ll make my roommate do it."

PARENT
"Your roommate is counting on YOU to do it."

TEEN
"My husband is going to be the cook…this isn’t the 50’s!"

PARENT
"Your husband won’t be your husband if you can’t cook for him (and the entire family), just like in the 50’s!"

TEEN
"I’m not planning on moving out of my parents’ home anytime soon!"

PARENT
"Oh, you’re moving out, all right, and sooner than you think!"

TEEN
"Cooking is too hard & I don’t know where to start"

PARENT
"Breakfast. Start tomorrow by making breakfast."

Okay, so you can bring some humor to the table as you fight for your cause but seriously, there are a few more points I’ll urge you to pass along to your dear legacy.

First of all, healthy, home-made food prepared with fresh ingredients is much more nourishing than fast, processed food, restaurant meals or hasty snacking. You’ll have control over your weight, the quality of your skin, and the amount of vitamins your body needs.

Next - in life, in business, in socializing…cooking and entertaining are powerful networking tools. Having a boss & his wife over for hors d’oeuvres, inviting your new neighbors over for a BBQ, or having small groups (church or college study groups etc.) at your home involves cooking something. They will want to eat, and you will need to cook it.

But MOST IMPORTANTLY the ability to create nice, healthy meals brings people together. There’s an unexplainable quality of life when your closest friends and family always want to gather at “your place” where the focus is the food…and a good excuse to get together. Plus, it is a beautiful gift that you can give people. Mom’s sick? Make her home-made soup. BFF devastated by a break-up? It sure does help to know how to grill that turkey burger (complete with bacon, cheese, tomato, lettuce and Ranch all wrapped in tinfoil and accompanied by a fresh strawberry-banana ice cream “smoothie”!)

So even if you aren’t the Rachel Ray type yourself, simply encouraging the next generation to pick up a pan and begin experimenting, is to encourage a certain joie de vie! And speaking of the joy of life, try it tomorrow morning, with your teen by your side…go ahead, blast “Don’t You Forget About Me” on your iPod whip up a little Breakfast Club of your own! You may find that you and your sweet soon-gone child may have a lot more in common than you thought.

Now, let me explain before you begin forming opinions. My dear friend was actually referring to the downpour of rain we had received the night before and she knows that I faithfully get, well…lets just say, “giddy” whenever there’s so much as a tint of grey in the sky. I mean the moment the temperature drops below 60 and there’s so much as a slight chance of a misting, I’m suddenly transformed into a hopping, skipping, singing fool. The kids are immediately informed that they MUST find wood for the fire…a few leftover sticks from November’s chord of cedar, dead branches from the yard, and hey, they’re too old to be playing with Thomas anyways, right? Throw in the tracks for kindling, boys!

My most predictable clamor is surprisingly not the patter of my rain dance, but in fact, the clatter of my pots and pans. Aunts and uncles begin popping in for “visits,” old friends who get our weather channel fly in from out of town, even the MOPS group wants to have their Monday Coffee Meetings here (on Tuesday nights), and I don’t even have a pre-schooler!

You see, the extended family begins gathering at the first sign of “Stormwatch 2007” because they know that every one of the 6 burners on the Barrette’s range will be vigilantly at work, for them, of course. One flame is happily simmering a copper pot full of a spicy chicken-cilantro soup, sure to cure Gracie’s winter cold. On another; an unsuspecting Tagine…patiently offering up the magical Moroccan aromas of lemon, curry & onion which transport my sister to a country she has yet to visit. Yet a third burner, heat way down, holds a jewel box-sized saucepot of reduced Amaretto to drizzle over the Pear Almandine tart in the oven. Yes, braising, baking, searing and sautéing all happen, quite contently I might add, to the sister who loves rain, but there is also something not everyone may know.

As thickly as inspiration emerges from this kitchen, a significant phenomenon spawns from my rain-intoxication in our Family Room as well. For some unknown reason, the cold weather, the tapping of rain on the windows, the warmth of a fire and the smell of herbs and spices throughout the house leaves me inflicted with a contagious joy. Suddenly the TV goes off, the soundtrack to Pocahontas goes on (don’t laugh…its really good!), the LG, MP3, PSP, DS, Wii, and IM stay upstairs and down comes backgammon and cards, and no one seems to mind. In fact, its here that we honestly enjoy each other’s company most. Its in this room where teenage daughter and 7-year old son beat “team mom and dad” 3-to-1 at Acee Ducee, all while appreciating 3rd grade son’s fine flute-a-phone entertainment.

It’s the room where the winner gets the warm carpet in front of the fire, and the loser has to set up the next game. Its here where we find out whose dating whom in the Junior class. Its also the room where its okay to spill a little home-made clam chowder out of the sourdough “bowl,” and the only Blackberry anyone cares about is served à la mode that evening. You know, I really don’t mind people knowing me well at all.

Here are the recipes for a delicious home-made clam-chowder-in-sourdough-bowls as well as a “rustic blackberry tartine”.