I remember the first time my mother allowed me to bake by myself: I must've been 6 or 7 when I made poppy seed-coated pretzel bagels. Of course, I forgot the salt in the dough, and they ended up a little bland. But I had found my passion.
As my skills in the kitchen grew, I expanded my repertoire beyond classic Romanian and Hungarian foods. We didn't have much and going to restaurants was a once-a-year treat, so my mother and I watched cooking shows and tried to replicate the dishes we saw the hosts make.
Turning my cooking hobby into a career was a dream I hadn't dared to dream. But I applied for a visa that allowed me to work at Utah's ski resort restaurants, and I built a wonderful online community of cooking enthusiasts through my social media accounts.
I’ve been in the United States for five years now and, funny enough, I miss things like the fresh bread, roadside wine and juicy summer tomatoes from my favorite farmers' market in Romania.
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