Comfort Food: The Process of Being Comfortable With Food

Below is a short story I submitted for a course I am currently taking involving the importance of food and its significance to memory: 

*The recipe for the tiropita mentioned will be available on the blog at a later time

“Oh no, I’m not gonna eat that crap,” my dad would say. “What! This is no crap! This is good for you, there is no butter, no nothing!” And she was right, there was no butter, but there was something. Layered between each sheet of filo (φύλλο)dough was olive oil margarine, eggs and cheese, and more margarine. But there was no butter, and that equals healthy. Growing up in a family that loved nutrition as much as most people love Thanksgiving dinner, I quickly developed an eating disorder. Suffice it to say, this eating disorder did not center around my weight as much as it did my health and the control over my health. When I was young, I dreamt of being a chef, I would help Grace—our nightly dinner cook—to make dinner and dessert,and that way, I learned many techniques very early on. Cooking was something that I got good enough at that I new how to control even the worst of situations—it was my version of a sick dream. As I got older and began to exercise my passion for food more seriously, I began to realize the paradoxical phenomenon that I was harboring: I love food, I love to make and serve food yet, this desire only lives to serve others. I would suppose this is because I love food so much, I tend to lose control when I eat something good, but with other people, it is not my problem to monitor how much of something they eat.