My name is Mitzi, but my family calls me “Adah”. Welcome to my kitchen.
My love of baking began with an epic fail as a nine-year-old. I learned that day about the chemistry of baking and the fact that, though baking soda and flour look similar, two ingredients are not necessarily interchangeable. My chocolate chip cookies were inedible but I was undaunted – and absolutely intrigued by the science as a budding chemist.
Later that same summer I unearthed my mom’s Better Homes and Gardens cookbook, the one with the gingham cover that came as a three-ring-binder, it still looked new. I made dinner that afternoon before I left for softball practice. I still remember the explicit instructions I left my mom about re-warming everything. Later, when she asked me how I knew what to do, I pointed to the book and asked: “Did you know that you had this book? It tells you how to do everything!”
From that day forward, I was the executive chef in our household.
There were more epic fails – more than I can count – and I learned from each and every one. In my adolescence the BHG cookbook was replaced by The Joy of Cooking, a gift from my best friend Annie. Irma Rombauer and Marion Becker became my tutors with their excellent and clear conversational explanation of every technique, as well as the chemistry and physics behind why recipes worked. I developed the confidence to experiment with recipes because of their play-by-play guidance on options with each recipe. I still refer to that same encyclopedic kitchen tome. The beat-up BHG sits proudly in my kitchen library, right next to Rombauer and Becker!
To use a trite and perhaps overused phrase: Food is my love language. When I have no words, and even when I do, I always have food to convey every emotion. Before any guest list is decided, no event, holiday or family gathering is ever planned without first wondering, “What will we eat?” My favorite memories are all bound tightly with the food that I created to celebrate whatever we were doing, down to the most humble picnic lunch.
My mom spent the last year of her life in my home; I reveled in feeding her the foods and pastries that she grew up with, like pusharata, as well as ones that were newer to her like Povitica -a filled bread which one of her hospice nurses, who also happened to be Croatian, told us about. I laughed at every oncology visit as mom stepped on the scale before looking back at me: “Damn you Mitzi!” As her cancer progressed, as well as her weight – finally there was no need to worry about weight! – I stopped reading her the correct number on the scale. A lower weight gave her tacit approval to happily consume everything I put in front of her, as well as the occasional caramel Drumstick cone; a mutual indiscretion shared with my husband Rick.
My greatest joy is feeling bread dough alive in my hands. I was gifted a sourdough starter in 2007 and it has accompanied me through the ups and downs and changes in my life. I sent some to Qatar with my brother when he worked there to see if it would adopt some ancient spores, and it sits next to the OG in my fridge.
All of this is to say that my desire to bring the recipes in my head to life is far greater than my ability, or desire, to consume all those tasty creations. My family has encouraged me to step out and offer both my food and my knowledge to the rest of the world. Thank you for joining me in both of these endeavors.
"Food, in the end, in our own tradition, is something holy. It's not about nutrients and calories. It's about sharing. It's about honesty. It's about identity." - Louise Fresco
"A party without cake is just a meeting." - Julia Child
"All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn't hurt." - Charles M. Schulz
"One cannot think well, love well, sleep well if one has not dined well." - M.F.K. Fisher
"Laughter is brightest in the place where the food is." - Irish Proverb
