The Olive Garden in Knoxville is Anne and my favorite restaurant. The portions are large and the waitpersons friendly and helpful. It is a welcome upgrade from Mickey D’s or Subway, however, slightly out of our price range. We only go there on special occasions. A few years ago such an occasion occurred. We were celebrating my eighty-ninth and a half birthday in July. When you are approaching the milestone of ninety years on this planet, it is reason to celebrate. We announced when we approached the hostess at the door that we were celebrating. “What are you celebrating,” she asked. “Why, my eighty-ninth and a half birthday.” I said. “Congratulations,” was her response.

We also informed our waitress after we were seated. When she handed us menus, we told her we knew what we wanted; “Fettuccini Alfredo!” Anne would have the chicken and I would have the shrimp. We waited for our bread sticks. Anne had an Italian soup and I had the tossed salad.

This all reminds me of the days I wouldn’t have known what a Fettuccini Alfredo dish was. During the Great Depressions years, our diet was basic and unvaried. Since Mother was an immigrant, with Dad insisted on only American food and with only one almost worthless cookbook, our diet was especially basic.

We did have enough to eat. Living in a tenant house, we had a cow, a pig, some chickens and a garden. We just didn’t have variety in our diet. That all changed with the end of the Second World War. Veterans came home with a craving for pizza and such. What on earth was that dish with the strange sounding name? Never heard of it before.

I remember my introduction to a pizza: just a flat piece of bread with some stuff on it. My first taste did not go well either. The second one I tasted had me hooked. I love cheese, any kind of cheese, even the smelly stuff. A pizza is topped with cheese. I liked the sausage, tomato sauce and the other veggies piled on that round piece of flat bread. I would have to learn how to make a pizza.

In the late 1940’s that I didn’t have a cookbook. Woman’s Day and other women magazines at ten cents a copy always had an extensive cooking section with new combinations of basic foods. I clipped every recipe that looked interesting. If it had an accompanying picture, I clipped that, too. Pasted in a three ring binder, it was my first cookbook. That was before Pug bought home the Searchlight Cookbook, along with a huge dictionary. Where did he get it? From a traveling salesman when he worked at the Concord Lumber Company.

Most girls learn to cook from their mother. Mine had left dad, leaving me adrift in the cooking department. My clipped recipes were my salvation. I have clipped recipes ever since. It all started with learning to make a pizza.