When I was a teenager I would lock myself in the bathroom for hours bouffanting my hair like Patty Duke and trying to recreate Barbra Streisand's flawless eyeliner only to comb it all out and wash it all off before stepping out into the world a butchish bisexual teen.
We would load up the yellow Cutlass Supreme station wagon and pick blackberries during blackberry season or spring onions during spring onion season. For us food was part of the fabric of our day.
