The Biltmore (just needs to be said)

I like food. I think most people are aware of this, but I really mean it. My mom’s Colombian and my dad is a Bahamian chef (for those of you who don’t know, that means he’s from the Bahamas. He’s not Bohemian), so food has been a big part of my life. Back when I was living in Miami, I spent a lot of time at the Biltmore , where my dad worked. After taking me on long adventures around the golf course, he would take me through the kitchens and teach me everything there was to know about being a chef. He was famous among the employees. Everyone knew about Glen Ferguson, the giant, friendly chef. Even the newcomers recognized him after he got a new job. The people there were like a second family, and I was free to explore the huge resort.

One day, my older sister, brother, and I were wandering around and we found a beautiful suite, usually reserved for billionaires or something. Everything in the room was white and flawless. Our curiosity got the better of us, and we slipped in through the sliding glass door. It seemed to rebellious, even though we knew we were “allowed” inside. I think I was maybe four of five at the time, I really don’t remember. The only thing I know is that my brother was still alive, and that was one of the last times I was able to bond with him. He was an amazing artist and chef, as well as the ideal older brother for a little girl (for those of you who joke around about the “gangster” I must have been in Miami, I’ll have you know that I thoroughly enjoyed painting my brother’s nails).

So now, when I talk to my dad, he makes sure to ask me how my cooking has been, or if I’ve eaten anything worth mentioning lately. It’s really the only thing we bond over. When I say I like food, it’s because I really like eating good food, and it reminds me of those experiences.



If you guys ever want to visit... :)

http://www.biltmorehotel.com/