My first love was food. I know this to be true because I recall with vivid detail food memories from childhood and adolescence: Like all first loves, there was much to learn. I fumbled through chocolate chip cookie doilies and Alfredo paste, defeated in my inexperience. Food was tender and caring, coaxing me to practice until a natural intuition guided mind and actions. When I lived in Boston’s North End, the fusion began to meld. Maybe it was the air scented with garlic and baking bread. Maybe it was the unique opportunity of shopping for goods from a variety of expert vendors. Maybe it was recipes on scraps of paper shared after years of patronage. Maybe it was being called the resident foodie at the office because I printed packets of recipes from the Web each night before leaving work. Maybe it was all about the timing. Whatever the reason or reasons, I know that my adoration is concrete.