This post originally appeared in the Bloomington Herald Times on October 5, 2005
Getting the chance to renew a childhood friendship as an adult is truly a gift. Ronnie and I had been good pals since our wild and crazy junior high days. Somehow, post-college, we managed to lose touch, so I was tickled to get an e-mail from her a few years ago. We easily picked up the threads, exchanging news about jobs and kids and husbands and, unbelievably, the fact that we were both writing cookbooks.
I shouldn't be surprised. Food was one of the things that always fascinated me about Ronnie's house when we were growing up. It was so not like the food in my house, for one thing. The Leightons were the first Jewish family and the first Europeans I had known really well. In their kitchen I ate my first cheese that was meant just for eating (as opposed to melting or grating), my first lox, my first blintz.