Allison Seaside Magazine

Last Word with Allison Smith

I’m not a foodie. I love food, but unlike our gourmet traveller Jill Van Gyn who wrote about Food Trends for this issue (pg 17), I’ve never been especially adventurous when it comes to it. My tastes have always run toward the simple; when I was little I would order my McDonald’s cheeseburger with nothing but cheese. Years later I got brave and started getting “half ketchup and mustard.”

It’s not that I’m not willing to try new things – I am. I just don’t see why you need to mess with a good thing when it’s already perfect. My mom has always made us macaroni and cheese from scratch, and I follow the same recipe for my family. It’s nothing special: the sauce is simply cheese, milk, flour and butter with a dash of salt and pepper, but the final result is hot and cheesy and comforting and familiar. A while ago I made it for a friend. “You know what would really taste great?” she asked. “If you add dijon mustard to the sauce!” I nodded and agreed, but I knew I’d never do it.

The same goes for restaurants: sure that fancy burger with all the exotic toppings tempts me at first, but as soon as I see homemade chicken strips on the menu the battle is lost.

Even roasted marshmallows fall victim to my simple palate: yes I could snuggle that toasted decadence between two graham crackers with a piece of chocolate, but why bother when it’s a perfect golden bite all on its own?

Maybe this reluctance to move out of my comfort zone stems from the fact that so many of the foods I love, without any bells and whistles, are not just dishes but “food memories,” as Sue calls them in this month’s “First Word.” (pg 8)

The macaroni and cheese was a dish we had once a week, as a family, around our dinner table as we shared the events of our day.

Roasted marshmallows bring me right back to my grandparents’ house on the water in Gibsons – sitting around a little fire with all my cousins as we tried to get the most out of each marshmallow, toasting, carefully removing each outer layer and then toasting again.

Basic hand-cut french fries will always mean spring and summer days spent at the ballfield as first me, then my sister, then brother played.

Grilled cheese on an English muffin – no tomato, no ham, just cheddar – meant Dad was making lunch.

Whenever I grab a banana as a quick snack, I think of it sliced into a bowl of milk with a little sugar sprinkled on top: the “treat” we used to get for finishing all our dinner.

Food memories, while always linked to the dishes you ate, are just as much about what you were doing, who you were with, and why that moment was special. And that is why it’s been so much fun to work with the team and our talented local chefs to pull Seaside’s first Food Issue together.

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