What is your comfort food and why?
I can say with a great deal of confidence that my comfort food is a taco containing colorful, miniature marshmallows. Is it the "mouth-watering" flavor that is the source of my preference for these unconventional tacos? Certainly not. Rather, it is the fact that I have enjoyed them annually with people I love. Memories have the ability to make something seem truly special, no matter how mediocre the actual taste may be.
It all started on Mardi Gras, or "Fat Tuesday" as we Catholics call it. Although still a young child, I was already familiar with our tradition of make-your-own tacos. Small bowls of toppings would litter the kitchen table, and each person could take as much or as little as they wanted. I had always enjoyed the autonomy of being able to assemble my own dinner. However, the typical shredded lettuce and salsa were entirely too boring for my five year-old brain. I wanted something more, something exciting.
I somehow managed to sneak away from the dinner preparations and make my way to the pantry. Here, I searched the shelves; mostly the lower ones, due to my height at the time. I needed something that would make my taco worthwhile. It was then that I discovered the perfect addition to my Fat Tuesday meal: marshmallows. Not just ordinary marshmallows either, but the tiny, rainbow-colored kind. Perfect for tacos.
When I proudly brought my excellent taco idea into the kitchen, my mother fortunately did not object. That Mardi Gras, everyone had a marshmallow-filled taco. Truth be told, they weren't actually that good; it was more the originality than the flavor that had us coming back for seconds. Not only were my eccentric tacos a hit that year, they soon became a family tradition. To this day, my family's Fat Tuesday consists of tortillas, tomatoes, and marshmallows. The custom has remained unchanged, except for the switch to vegan marshmallows, since I am now a vegetarian with objections to gelatin.
How is it possible that something so seemingly insignificant, such as a mediocre meal, has become an integral part of my year? When I take a bite of my Mardi Gras dinner, I taste much more than the odd combination of Mexican and campfire flavor. I also delight in the appealing taste of memory. To me, the tacos signify sitting around the kitchen table with my mother and my sister, remembering good times and simultaneously making more of them. There isn't a gourmet meal in the world that could compete with that. No matter where my life takes me, I will always take comfort in the tradition and reminiscence that the marshmallow tacos represent.
I can say with a great deal of confidence that my comfort food is a taco containing colorful, miniature marshmallows. Is it the "mouth-watering" flavor that is the source of my preference for these unconventional tacos? Certainly not. Rather, it is the fact that I have enjoyed them annually with people I love. Memories have the ability to make something seem truly special, no matter how mediocre the actual taste may be.
It all started on Mardi Gras, or "Fat Tuesday" as we Catholics call it. Although still a young child, I was already familiar with our tradition of make-your-own tacos. Small bowls of toppings would litter the kitchen table, and each person could take as much or as little as they wanted. I had always enjoyed the autonomy of being able to assemble my own dinner. However, the typical shredded lettuce and salsa were entirely too boring for my five year-old brain. I wanted something more, something exciting.
I somehow managed to sneak away from the dinner preparations and make my way to the pantry. Here, I searched the shelves; mostly the lower ones, due to my height at the time. I needed something that would make my taco worthwhile. It was then that I discovered the perfect addition to my Fat Tuesday meal: marshmallows. Not just ordinary marshmallows either, but the tiny, rainbow-colored kind. Perfect for tacos.
When I proudly brought my excellent taco idea into the kitchen, my mother fortunately did not object. That Mardi Gras, everyone had a marshmallow-filled taco. Truth be told, they weren't actually that good; it was more the originality than the flavor that had us coming back for seconds. Not only were my eccentric tacos a hit that year, they soon became a family tradition. To this day, my family's Fat Tuesday consists of tortillas, tomatoes, and marshmallows. The custom has remained unchanged, except for the switch to vegan marshmallows, since I am now a vegetarian with objections to gelatin.
How is it possible that something so seemingly insignificant, such as a mediocre meal, has become an integral part of my year? When I take a bite of my Mardi Gras dinner, I taste much more than the odd combination of Mexican and campfire flavor. I also delight in the appealing taste of memory. To me, the tacos signify sitting around the kitchen table with my mother and my sister, remembering good times and simultaneously making more of them. There isn't a gourmet meal in the world that could compete with that. No matter where my life takes me, I will always take comfort in the tradition and reminiscence that the marshmallow tacos represent.
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