Growing up, I was an active kid. Sports were my life, especially basketball. Like any other kid, I thought that one day I’d make it to the NBA. I played travel basketball with my best friends, it was all we lived and breathed. I played big, impeccable foot work and post moves with a lethal mid ranger—like Zach Randolph—which earned me his nickname, Zebo. Day or night, rain or shine, we were out there. I remember running 2v2s outside in the middle of winter. Snow on the ground, wearing our winter coats and mitts, first team to 100 wins. Playing all that ball would work up a nasty appetite, and no matter whose house we were at, the mom would make us some type of pasta. It’s easy and economical, the perfect thing to feed a big group of hungry, growing boys. My parents were always known among my friends as being amazing cooks, and when my twin and I hosted them, my mom would make her baked ziti. Sauce from scratch, lots of cheese on top, baked until golden and bubbly. The best parts were those crispy bits of pasta around the edges. Then, my dad would make his signature garlic bread. Then a simple salad to turn it into a complete meal. Making it to the NBA as a 5'9 power forward was never going to be a reality, but food always remained a constant in my life, and somehow now it is my career. Here I’m taking a dish I grew up on and reworking it with what I know now—knowledge I’ve picked up from cookbooks, food shows, restaurant experiences, and just years of being obsessed with food. It’s a reminder that food is so much more than sustenance. It’s memory, a way to travel back in time to those special moments of our lives, a way to reconnect with our inner child. It grows with us, and later in life we re-make it the way we see fit, those preferences shaped by our own experiences and learnings along the way. It’s how food evolves as it’s passed down through generations. And that’s what I find so beautiful about food.