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The paella that Mom prepared for the celebration of my baptism, with my name spelled out in red peppers

By Sofia Perez

[Published by Food52, April 30, 2019]

Standing in my parents’ kitchen, I slipped the white chef’s apron over my head. As I tied the straps loosely around my waist, a familiar dull ache settled in my midsection. The apron belonged to my father—a memento from his stint as a cook at a golf club in Yonkers. Although Dad left the industry when I was an infant, the apron endured, put to good use whenever he and my mother cooked multi-course meals. Seeing him don it meant that we were in for a feast…

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