An Introduction, of Sorts

I graduated from college in the spring of 2008 and, like many undergraduates, moved back in with my family while I sought out job opportunities, formed graduate school plans, and generally familiarized myself with life as a real, functioning adult in the world.

Truth be told, I was very comfortable as a child; some might say spoiled. My dad worked and my mom stayed at home, cleaning, cooking, and otherwise making sure the little things that held our lives together remained in good, working order. She loved to cook (must have, to have been so good at it) and had a firm background in Italian cuisine, passed down through the family, that extended easily into other specialties. Home-cooked dinners were the norm, often accompanied by home-made desserts. A part of me looked forward to my return home as a return to my childhood, expected to be welcomed with pasta, tacos, soup, and cookies.

That was not to be, though. It was a time of transition, not only for myself, but for my parents and my brother. Without children who required her constant supervision and attention, my mother went back to work at a quilt shop (long a hobby of hers), which required her to commit to long, irregular hours. She enjoyed the work, but it kept her out of the house most evenings. That left the three men of the house to fill the dinner-time void.

An endless and redundant series of Sam's Club frozen meals followed: chicken fried rice, pizza, pot pies, chicken parmigiana, repeat. They were easy enough to make (a top priority). Most involved merely dumping the contents of sealed, plastic bags into a pot or pan and heating until palatable. These were serviceable meals, almost a novel change in the beginning. Soon, though, I tired of the rubbery, tasteless cuts of meat and overly salted sauces. I ate small portions quickly, before my stomach could turn. A change had to be made.

Complaining, besides being a petulant offense to the people who had dutifully taken care of me for eighteen plus years, wouldn't affect any change. Of the options before me, a proactive course of action would be best. I committed myself to cook a meal for the entire family one night per week. I chose Tuesday; my thought was that if I could cook a real meal after working an eight hour day at an office, it might inspire my father and brother to similar feats and we could eat real food at least four days a week.

My initial attempts were clumsy, though edible. I had good instincts in the kitchen (likely the result of watching my mother at work), but the execution and presentation were often awkward. What could I expect? Even in college I deferred to the dining halls more often than not. My greatest culinary success was a fool-proof BBQ chicken pizza, though even that had been my mother's invention.

It occurred to me that I was one of thousands, perhaps millions, struggling to feed myself with a Writing (English, Philosophy, Biology, etc.) degree. Wouldn't it be nice to have one of those people share stories of valiant attempts at cooking for the first time in his or her life? Thus, the B.A. (bachelor of arts, for anyone outside my key demographic) Gourmet came to be.

What can you expect from this blog? Recipes and instructions on a (roughly) weekly basis for simple, tasty meals. As a poor college graduate with plans for my future in the works, I promise that cost and cooking time will be twp of my most important considerations. If I'm in the kitchen for more than an hour, I'm probably putting out a fire. Will every post represent a scrumptious banquet? No, but I'll let you know what went wrong (as well as I can diagnose it) and how I might improve in a subsequent attempt.

Thanks for following the B.A. Gourmet! I hope you all laugh and learn along the way to a decent meal.