Comfort foods

I recently heard an interview about how we learn to eat. It starts with what our mothers ate before before we were born. We are hard wired to like sweetness and dislike things that are bitter. From there, what we find tasty is largely based on what our parents put on the table when we were young. I grew up on meat, potatoes, and vegetables from the garden seasoned with salt, pepper and onion or whatever was in the Hamburger Helper packets. Thankfully Mom branched out as more foods became available in area grocery stores. There are only two things I don’t remember liking growing up. The texture of watermelon ruined it for me. I was very put off by both the taste and texture of liver. My parents required us to at least eat a little bit of everything on the table but I didn’t have to eat any watermelon. We did have to eat liver – every Saturday. My brothers and I figured that since Mom considered liver to be the best way to boost her low iron, than she and Dad could eat it when we were at school. But Mom’s theory was that if she was low on iron, we all were. So every Saturday noon we drowned our piece of liver in ketchup and thus learned to eat what we don’t like without (much) complaining. I now enjoy watermelon and "liver" is my standard response when people ask me if there is anything I don't like. They laugh and assure me it will never be served in their home. 

I am currently on a low-iodine diet which means no eggs, dairy, or anything from the sea including salt, and no more than 6 oz of meat a day. That’s a hard diet to maintain when going to a Super Bowl party so I decided to make some falafel. I wasn’t sure that anyone else at the party would even know what it was or would like it, but I wanted something I could eat. It’s a mixture of garbanzo beans and cilantro, flavored with cumin and, in my case, non-iodized salt. Add enough flour so it is stiff and fry it up. It tasted so good, crispy on the outside, soft in the middle with a mouthful of flavor that reminded me of warm and generous North African hospitality. One friend had just seen something about it on the cooking channel so she was delighted to taste it and declared it “good”, even though it was no longer warm and crispy. I was reminded of going to a hole-in-the-wall East-African restaurant with 2 friends, one of whom had been to Morocco. One taste of the complimentary soup was all we needed to be transported back to Morocco. My other friend thought it was "really good," but she didn't have the same associations. No wonder I like ethnic restaurants. The flavors remind me of places I have been and dear friends who have welcomed me to their table.