When I was growing up, my dad didn’t really cook. I didn’t have the master chef howdidheevenlearntodothat kind of dad. My mom made the spaghetti, the meatloaf, the lasagna, the mac-n-cheese. I made the hot pockets. Dad was put in-charge of my lunch box, and I either had peanut butter and honey or bologna sandwiches for lunch everyday. It was cool, really. I liked bologna. Plus he always slipped me a little debbie
What my dad did know how to do was make killer fettucine alfredo. It was his dish. When he whipped out that southern living cookbook we knew what we were in for.
Ever since I went on a rampage in high school and googled how many calories were in the Olive Garden dishes, I took a little hiatus from alfredo. And Olive Garden in general. Not to mention most times I’ve ordered it the sauce tasted…blah. Why waste the money, right?
So when I was
bored at work one day being really productive scouring recipes online and saw one for a “healthier” alfredo, it hit me: sweet nostalgia. I wanted that comfort food. I wanted to be 8 years old again sitting in the kitchen watching my dad make dinner. Unfortunately, I’m 22. So I made it myself. And it was good [and healthy?].
Another throw-back? Something Corporate, “Punk Rock Princess” – it came on my itunes yesterday. Totally still know all the words…and I sang them. My apologies.