Where do I start? My heart jumped — because she was who I wanted to be.
I don't think I ever said it out loud, but I loved cooking from the time I was very little. Anyone who watched me closely would have seen it: at 11 in the morning I was already waiting with a pen and notebook in my hand, trying to write down, word for word, everything she said — the ingredients, the way she did each step. I loved her little mannerisms when she talked on the show. (They were reruns; I didn't even know it back then.) I dreamed about her so many times.
I didn't get to cook much in those days, except on Sundays. But I saved all my notes, and little by little I cooked every one of them. Later I got the Nicolini recetario, ¿Qué Cocinaré Hoy?, and cooked so many more — with no idea, until just a few years ago, that it was you who wrote it.
My mom taught me to cook, and so did my mother-in-law, who added French technique to our creole and the bits of Italian my mom had shown me. But you, Teresa — you made me read. You made me hungry for the cooking knowledge that gave my life its course and its purpose.
And now I get to thank you properly, because I am happy to say it: I am a Chef. And like you, I teach people to cook — and I keep no secrets to myself.
Thank you, Teresa, for making one hour of almost every morning happy. And for giving me forever happiness.