Jonathan Ari Steinberg

Everybody has their vices. Women, wine, gambling. For my entire 36 years, I've been a slave to the green stuff. No, not money. Lemon-lime Gatorade.

When I was born with a milk allergy, our doctor in Miami suggested my parents feed me a new sports drink on the market, a sweet substance loaded with carbohydrates and sodium. Invented in 1965 by Dr. Robert Cade at the University of Florida for the school's football team, Gatorade quickly became the gold standard of sports drinks, which it remains to this day. The Gatorade brand is one of the most recognized in the world, and has even spawned the Gatorade Sports Science Institute, which studies the way athletes' bodies react to hydration. As for me, I became addicted early on. In my 13,000-plus days on this earth, I'd guess there are probably less than 50 of them in which I haven't had at least a sip. When I was a kid, I would get sick every summer at camp if I would go more than a few days without it. I'm convinced my body requires it for normal function. As I became involved in youth athletics, I drank more and more, and somehow never lost the taste for it. I'm convinced it even subliminally drove me into a career in the sports business. And the love affair continues into my mid-life. I often consume an entire small bottle with my lunch, and enjoy a tall, cold glass every night with dinner. In short, my comfort food is a comfort drink. I can't imagine life without it.

Marilyn Ethel Moore Moon

When I was in junior high school, my family lived on Merchantile Street in McKeesport, outside of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. One Friday night, my friend Myrna slept at my house. The next morning, my parents, Ethel and Bill, made us breakfast. My mother made six dippy eggs- one for each of us and I guess two for my father. My father made bacon and toast. When we were ready to eat, my mother passed the platter with six eggs to Myrna, who exclaimed, "Oh My Goodness! I can't possibly eat all of these!"

But she did. Nobody said a word. We were so startled, none of us knew what to say.

Arthur Zanville Steinberg

As anyone who has been around for a few years, I have so many great food memories that I’ll just have to choose among hundreds to share with you now. I hope to supply you with many more as time goes by.

Among my earliest of such memories is one that my maternal grand-mother used to prepare. She lived in our family home in Baltimore and, on occasion, would take over kitchen duties from my mom.

She made a casserole of mashed potatoes mixed with freshly cooked spinach, then baked in a 350 degree oven until the top was crusty, that was out of this world. I used to fight for some of the crust. It was simple to make and delicious.

Many years later, as students in Cincinnati, your “uncle” Arthur B. and I used to treat ourselves to an occasional dinner at two special restaurants. One was an Italian place called Scotti’s where we sat and dined with the owner and her personally prepared viands. I loved her pasta with both meatballs and meat ravioli. The other, La Maisonette, where our favorite waitress, Marge, would advise us of the best menu items of the day. Their rare steaks and bottles of Lafite Rothschild were truly memorable.

Another, from the much more recent past, is the bourbon turkey breast that your Kitty-Mom has been making every Thanksgiving. You’ll have to ask her for the specific recipe but, please do, because it is outstanding.

Mim Golub Scalin

We just returned from a trip to NYC & NJ where we ate pizza for dinner 3 out of 4 nights we were there. (Arturo's, La Bottega, Krispy's) The pizza was so good! This reminded me of the first time I ever ate pizza. I must have been about 9 years old. My older sister was babysitting for us younger sibs that night and had a friend over. They ordered pizza and closed themselves into the kitchen with it. I knocked on the door. It cracked open a bit and my sister thrust something out at me and said, leave us alone. It was a hot, greasy triangle that smelled good but didn't look appetizing to me. I peeled off the top layer (cheese) and looked at the bumpy dough underneath and decided this was not something I wanted to eat. I went into the bathroom and broke it up into little pieces and flushed it down the toilet. (Pizza was a new thing, back then.) Hope you enjoy my memory,
m i m

Check out http://mim4art.blogspot.com

Jill Bari Steinberg

There are so many great food stories in my memory. My family was lucky enough to have many, many meals together while I was growing up. And while I have fond family memories and recipes, I have also been lucky to learn different recipes from other close families. It is no secret to anyone who knows me that, fortunately or UN, I have had my share of boyfriends. Some say I like variety - like a good tapas plate that has a little of everything. Due to this I have learned some great recipes from the mothers of my boyfriends. Recipes that I would never have normally come across. You can say it was an added bonus. If love don't last forever, well, the recipes will and have. It is hard to pick a favorite but I will say one of the top recipes I was ever taught and still make to this day is Mrs. Organ's Cream Chipped Beef. This recipe fascinated and thrilled me. Yes, you heard me right. You see, Jews don't eat meat out of can unless, I suppose, they are trapped in a bunker, lost somewhere. Needless to say, I had never seen or heard of this delicacy but Steve kept talking about his mother's creamed chip beef like it was heaven drizzled on a biscuit. I try to be adventurous when it comes to food - at least tasting it if not loving it. My parents taught us to try everything once. I just wish I had realized then that they were talking about food. Anyway, Steve's parents live in an idyllic log cabin home on the side of a mountain just minutes from West Virginia. Visiting there was always a treat but -- on special occasions --it got even better. I was not sure what to expect when I sat down for breakfast with the whole family - the smell of the biscuits and the chipped beef were almost too much for me to handle. It smelled that good and tasted even better. It was creamy and salty and the biscuits were crunchy. I think I ate two full plates and fell into a food coma. So the next time I made sure to watch the whole process so I could learn how this magical recipe was made. She was kind enough to share this family recipe with me and gave me many helpful hints. Some of the things also apply to other recipes I have tried since then. For instance, the creamed chipped beef starts with a simple roux. I had never done that before and since then it has been in so many recipes I can't count them all. I am grateful to have had that opportunity to learn a recipe that I never would have learned. So, variety may be the spice of life, but it was also my ticket to the best creamed chipped beef anywhere.