Hi, my name is Mae and this is my food blog, Little Fig. I wish I could fill this space with tons of intriguing facts about myself, but the truth is, on the surface of things there aren’t many. I did not attend a particularly prestigious college (in fact, I just misspelled “prestigious”, before spell-check saved me), and I did not study cooking or even anything particularly interesting while I was there.
I’m not from a faraway place with exotic cuisine… unless you happen to be reading this from the polar opposite of Chicago, IL, in which case maybe deep dish pizza is exotic and we have a lot to talk about.
And I don’t do anything for a living remotely food-related, or anything that a kid would bother to dress up for on Career Day, for that matter.
On that last one, I should point out that in 4th grade I did dress up as an office manager for Career Day, but it was more of a last minute “mom won’t let me take my microscope to school so I can’t go as a scientist” thing than a “I really want to be an office manager” thing. Oddly enough that is, sort of, what I do now. The office manager one, not the scientist one.
What I do have is a lot of love for food. It’s usually the answer to the question “What are you thinking about?” Left in a room without books or outside stimulus I will slip into a glazy stare and go over braising methods in my head.
Watching films I will lose track of the plot for a moment if the actors are sitting around a dinner table.
I am not allowed into restaurant supply stores without constant supervision.
There are non-food related things to share, too.
I’m overly obsessed with unprovable theoretical statistics. For example, I wonder how many other tourists’ photos I appear in the backgrounds of: Me as a sweaty backpacker in Ecuador, with my mother in nearly matching raincoats and frizzy hair in London, or as a pair of crooked mouse ears on my father’s shoulders at Disney World. A lot of them would be as a streaky blur in front of the Willis (Sears) Tower sign in Chicago, where I used to work and dash to and from my train only a little too late to realize that I’m ruining memories for families from Sao Paulo or Berlin.
In reading this, you may also from time to time take note of the fact that I am overfond of the comma, spreading it liberally and without a care for grammar. As a friend once pointed out years ago, it can make my reading sound, a bit like, it’s written by, Christopher Walken. It’s my written word whisker and though I try my best to keep it reined in (I have deleted about 7 instances from this article alone), it still slips in from time to time, so beware. I may start offering a prize for finding them.
So if any of this is appealing to you, or endearing or even just tolerable, I hope you’ll stay and cook and share stories with me. There’s lots to come, so until then, me and my tiny hands will be in the kitchen…