While I’m unable to remember a meal that I enjoyed as a child, I do recall one single item, I suppose one among many, that I thoroughly enjoyed. It was something I used to sneak. Or, at least I thought I was sneaking it.
We had a staircase in our house that rose two steps to a small square landing, then you’d make a sharp left, and go the rest of the way up. That landing, and a couple of the steps to the left, were open to the kitchen. If you wanted to, you could climb right onto the kitchen counter, from the stairs. I’m guessing, when my dad built the house, he left this spot open to have a direct view of the front door.
I clearly remember, quiet as a mouse, descending one step at a time until I reached the counter. Directly above the counter lived mom’s baking cupboard, filled with wonderfully, sweet baking supplies. Now this particular spot on the stairs could not be seen from any other place in the house, not including of course, the front door and the landing at the top of the stairs. So I would put one foot on the counter to brace myself, while opening the cupboard and reaching in, past the chocolate chips, straight to the raisins. I would sneak raisins. What child does that? Since it was all in the ‘baking’ cupboard, I assumed it was off limits.
Little did know, until years and years later, that mom knew all about the raisins. She let me think I was getting away with it, because they were healthy. Apparently, she kept the cupboard stocked with raisins, just for me.
I don’t know when I started hating raisins, but I think it had something to do with how many I ate as a child. The texture, especially when baked, and the sickly sweetness of them, turn me off. It’s a great thing when it comes to baking, because if there are raisins in anything, I have absolutely no desire whatsoever, to have any. So, in a weird way, my dislike for them now, has saved me many a calorie.