I was a pretty well behaved child, especially in public places, so when I caused a scene in a restaurant notice was taken. I don't recall the reason but we went out to eat breakfast on a Sunday. Usually, on Sundays, when my father was home, my brother and I would get up early to go to the bakery and get hot, fresh rye bread, bagels and a dozen assorted rolls. By the time we got home my mother would have all the deli fixings like nova, cream cheese, jelly, whitefish, etc. out on the table and the four of us would dig in.

This Sunday was the exception and we were at a restaurant and I had ordered sunny side up eggs on English muffins. When it was delivered I started to howl and yelling, "This isn't what I ordered!" Both my parents were non-plussed at my reaction with my father being exceptionally upset as his children didn't act that way in public!

When I finally calmed down a bit they asked me what was wrong and my parents and brother were roaring with laughter at my explanation. I was only use to burnt, black eggs!!! I didn't know they came any other way!

The only other time my father got upset with me was one time, again in public, I started to eat chicken with my fingers.

My father manufactured children's sportswear and was on the road a lot. He would come home every other weekend and we, as a family, would go out to eat when he was home. It took awhile for me to understand why because I loved eating out but the main reason was that my mother didn't know how to cook and my father hated whatever she served.

We went out for Italian food on Saturdays and Chinese food on Sundays for our dinners.

My mother only knew how to cook food one way--extremely well done--everything tasted the same--like shoe leather. She could, literally, burn water or at least the pot it was in. When we had hard boiled eggs, trust me, they were HARD!!.

My mother and her 4 sisters rotated having the families over for dinners during the holidays (like Passover) and when it was held at our place all the sisters brought many foods they had prepared because they knew her meals would be inedible.

It was until I was in my teens that I learned there were other foods to eat besides brisket that was as well done as the soles on my shoes. Between my own explorations and my father taking me to top restaurants in Manhattan when I went down to his office if he was in town that I learned about food.

And it was when I lived on my own that I started cooking--I still have my original 1953 edition of Irma S. Rombauer's "Joy Of Cooking"--a bit battered but certainly well used over the years.

The only cooking lessons I ever had was back in 1956-57 when I went to work at Piccolo's in Miami Beach. Sam Piccolo, the owner, wanted me to become a cook instead of a waiter and taught me how to cook the over 200 items on his menu. Though I decided to become a waiter instead--it's true, if you can't stand the heat in the kitchen get out and so I did--I have always been grateful to Sam. To this day I can make great homemade ravioli and gnocchi not to mention Veal Marsala, Salta Eb Boca, etc.

I did, and still do, excel at linguine with white clam sauce, made from scratch Caesar salad and a WOW! shrimp scampi but, alas, alack, even though my uncle owned a bakery and tried to teach me I was never good at cakes, pies and cookies and baking a good carrot cake, even after all these years, is still elusive.

In a way my mother being a lousy cook not only made me appreciate good cooking but opened the door to my having many memorable meals in restaurants around the world.