It may seem arrogant, but I do consider myself a cut above the rest of my age group in terms of taste. I have been under the influence of food for as long as I can remember.
It may seem quite strange for you to hear that, especially with you knowing that I am fifteen, about fifteen years behind what my age should be in order for most people to take this blog seriously. But have you ever wondered what a teen’s thought’s on food were, or what a teen like me would be doing writing a food blog? Well, you tell me the answer, because I honestly can’t tell right now.
I subscribe to a certain philosophy I like to call Gabrielism, it simply states that age should not hinder you from being the best you can be. Like me for example, I am fifteen years of age, but I want to write a successful food blog. Go for it youth! (or elderly, whichever extremity you happen to fall under.)
So, here is my recipe for a fifteen-year-old food critic:
1. High School Cafeteria Food
We all know that cafeteria lady that has a crush on one of your classmates, but always seem to have a certain loathing for the rest of the world. I have faced such a demon before.
In freshman year I lined up at our cafeteria for the very first time. I asked for a turon (for all you non-filipinos out there reading my blog, yes, I’m talking to you, a turon is a banana wrapped in a pancake, and deep fried until crisp, and golden brown) To put it lightly, it was terrible.
It was everything a turon shouldn’t be, or in other words, it was the ANTITURON. It’s brown skin was about as crisp as a bill…after being run through the laundry five-hundred times. The banana was bland, and not to mention it’s lack of brown sugar.
Demon cafeteria ladies, Antiturons, all these lead to me realizing one of life’s truths. All cafeteria food (I don’t care how fancy your school is) is absolutely terrible. No refuting this fact. It basically tought me that this is what food isn’t.
2. My Grandmother
If you think it’s stupid for someone to write about his Grandmother on the internet, skip to the last Paragraph of this post.
Okay, now that I’ve sifted through you guys, I can get started…
Being a filipino child, I grew up very close to my maternal Grandmother. She was probably the most typical person you would ever meet. She was fair in complexion, topped with white hair, and had rosy cheeks that never seemed to fade to another dull shade.
She was the family’s cook, and she insisted on us gathering around our dinner table every evening. She was the graham cracker base to our no-bake cheesecake.
There was one thing that made this one woman stand out above every other girl I’ve met. (No, this isn’t an incestual story, get back to reading you creeper) And I only realized it after she had passed away.
When my grandmother passed away, the first thing we did as a family was dig up her recipes to create what could be one of the world’s largest, richest depression meals on earth.
It consisted of rice mixed with crab fat and shrimp, patties of eggy ground pork, and so much more. It was probably the best food I have ever tasted. (WARNING: that may just be the depression talking)
Basically, my grandmother taught me everything food was. She defines food.
3. Iron Chefs
This tale begins on the hot summer afternoon wherein I had just learned how to operate the TV.
I came upon the world’s most underestimated then, the food network. This meant one thing of course, the eternally popular show “Iron Chef” was showing.
This show simply amazed me. They took everything I thought wouldn’t go together. It now did.
To keep it short and simple, the Iron Chefs taught me all that food can be
What to do:
1. Mix all ingredients together in a bowl.
2. Shove down your favorite child’s mouth.
~Normal people, stop here.~
Welcom, douchebag! You have just hit the lowest possible point in my blog, the paragraph of SHAME. Good luck with life!