Chow Bella has a valentine for you. For the rest of February, we're handing out Candy Hearts -- stories of food and love from some of our favorite writers. Enjoy.
In a decent childhood, someone feeds you routinely, from the very first day. How can there not be at least some love associated with being fed? And we remember love.
See also: Laurie Notaro's Dish of Death
I love and remember food, often in conjunction with clothes, which, despite how I dress, I also love. I remember not just what I was eating but also what I was wearing (or, at least, shopping for) at most of the key moments in my life. Or were they key moments? I have a feeling life tricks us by making things memorable when they aren't necessarily important. If the important things were the most memorable, would we screw up as much as we do?