Looking back at my formative years, I think about the many memories (good and bad) that surrounded my family kitchen. Every night we’d come together to cook, eat and talk about our day. Sometimes we’d fight over who got the first taste of marinara, and other times, my dad would fry up some chicken liver and onions, and it would quite-literally clear the room.

Dad would wrangle us back and make us try it, “just once”, he would say. That small practice of giving new and unfamiliar things a chance helped to shape me into the cook and eater I am today. I attribute so many of my foodie obsessions to dad, from creamy pâté to briny raw oysters.

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