As a kid here's what ethnic food meant to me. Sunday night Chinese takeout from one of three strip mall restaurants within a five minute drive. Perfect way to end a weekend. Oh and Christmas Day dinner of course.
Teenage years I branched out. Chinese food in Chinatown, NYC on cross country car trips with my parents during which I blasted Rick Springfield cassettes (under 30? ask your parents) through headphones that were cemented to my ears as I clutched something called a Walkman that broke during one trip so my parents landed me a new one, STAT, saving our vacation bliss from ruin.
College. More Chinese food, often when parents were in town. Unless everyone's up for T.G.I. Fridays in which case I'll have the Chinese chicken salad, thank you. There was also a Japanese place where you sit with strangers and pray the flying cleavers don't land on your head. My San Fernando Valley roommate would order California rolls (what is that? what's sushi?!) as my chicken teriyaki sizzled before me.
Now I pretty much eat the globe (aside from Chinese food, go figure). Yet cooking my favorites, like Mexican, Indian, and Japanese, frightens me. Have you ever seen a recipe for mole sauce? Sushi rolls? Tandoori chicken?
Then my friend Donna invited me to join her at Naveen's Cuisine for an Indian cooking demo class. Like manna from heaven! Three hours and and a few days later here's my first Indian recipe which by the way takes less time than waiting for a strip mall Chinese restaurant delivery guy to arrive on your doorstep. Honest.