Because I Am My Parents' Daughter

My parents rarely leave the house without a massive amount of food in tow. I think this is a combination of 1) my father having a ton of food allergies and thus preferring his own browning banana and chunks of cheese to being stuck buying stuff that might make him sick; 2) my mother growing up poor and subsequently taking great solace and immense pride in keeping a well-stocked pantry, desk drawer, purse, glove compartment and trunk; and 3) the East Coast's cultural penchant for overfeeding.

Whatever the reason, I have inherited the 'food bag' gene, and so no trip for anyone in this household slips by without accoutrements from my kitchen. So, when Adam left for his two-week adventure in Oz, he was suitably laden down with enough food to get him through twenty-four hours of travel. Pictured below from top to bottom: (Left hand row) Vietnamese noodle bowl with omelet, fresh herbs and raw veggies, curried quinoa and wild rice salad with cranberries and slivered almonds, chicken dumplings with black sesame seeds, three sauces (small enough to go through security); (Middle row) two slices of mushroom pizza from Whole Foods; (Right hand row) gherkins and two kinds of olives, organic grapes, cucumber rounds and carrot sticks, my famous (ha ;-) homemade protein-packed granola bars (one has a love note attached to the front) and dark chocolate laced with almonds.

Take that, bland airport food!