It's All in the Sauce W1

After reading some of the assigned passages for the course I tried to figure out what foods were important in my family. Having divorced parents the morning breakfast rituals and the elementary school brown bag specials varied greatly. With my mom breakfast was either peanut butter and jelly on white or Campbell's vegetable beef soup. Seriously, that was my breakfast, I hated anything considered breakfast food. During lunch at school I always felt like an outsider; instead of having a purple carton of nice cold milk like the other students, I was forced to drink a small plastic cup of either orange, grape, or apple juice (you know the ones, with the foil over the top you have to violently jab a straw into and in turn the half the juice spurts out at you.) The only thing my lactose and tolerance treated me to during my younger years was being known by name by all of the lunch ladies, who took full advantage of that. Aside from the food catastrophe my young mind created I was always more excited to eat at my dads. He was a fan of ribs with homemade sauce, marinated grilled pork loin, steak with his homemade super secret special seasoning (which I have just become responsible enough to come into contact with.) And the Sunday special; grandpa's house for a big old pot of homemade pasta sauce and meatballs. For my family it was considered a large accomplishment to eat seven  meatballs in one sitting. A challenge I constantly attempted and sometimes succeeded on improving upon. But at those Sunday family feasts I love watching my family in the kitchen arguing over the perfect taste smell and consistency of "the sauce" and the secrets of its velvety texture. Watching and then partaking in creating and shaping the perfect sized meatball is something I follow even now. I always loved mixing my hands in the raw meat I looked forward to cracking eggs into the mounds of red ripples and watching the egg whites slide down the side. I always aimed my finger to the target of the bright yellow yolks on my way into the bowl to begin to mix. Always making sure not to ever mix and churn the meat, smelling it to discover the right amount of seasonings for the bliss we always looked for and expected in each pot of sauce. As an adult I still feel like the taste testing of my sauce by anyone and especially my family is exactly that, a test. And I await for the mmms and ahhs I anticipate and desire so badly to hear.My father's side had breaded a full bread Italian who loves food and dissects every aspect of it. It's always all in the sauce for me. When i want to cook for my friends at school, special occasions, or to treat myself, it is always all in the sauce and the memories it brings me back to.