Exclusive Video: My top 3 childhood struggle meals

It wasn’t all struggle, my mother was an excellent cook with adventurous tastes. She knew quite a bit about health and diet; in her first marriage, she lived and worked on a potato farm in Idaho with my first three siblings—just 20 minutes from where she was born. In the 1970s, she was out there doing yoga and experimenting with macrobiotic diets.

But in my childhood, after her second marriage to my father ended, she was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was about four years old. She recovered and became cancer-free within a year or two, but continued to struggle with health issues and complications long after the diagnosis.

During that time, she was a single mother, in a tumultuous relationship with my stepdad, and we were in a rough spot—financially and otherwise. I didnt get to eat her cooking as much as I wish, and I do not remember it very vividly. She had very little to work with, and I judge her not—nor anyone else who’s just trying to get by.

When we did have a little spending money, my mother could be found at Olympia Pizza, The B&O Café, or any Greek spot in the city. She would sit for hours with her little brother David, any number of eccentric friends, her sisters when they visited, or my eldest sister Gretchen. I loved the food and the experience—it was such a stark contrast to how things were at home sometimes.

She was also a great forager. I remember collecting chanterelle mushrooms, the classic red huckleberries of Western Washington, Nootka rose petals, miner’s lettuce, and more. We didn’t get to spend a lot of time in the woods with Mom, but the time we did have, I look back on fondly—and it had a profound impact on me.

The meals in this video represent the lowest points—but they kept us going. My closest sister Alyssa and I had the freedom to get these foods and prepare them on our own when money was tight and our mother wasn’t well. It may seem strange, but these meals also helped spark my love of food in a different way.

Everyone in my family, on both sides, are food people. We split time at our dad’s house in our younger years. He struggled financially too, but made do in other ways. He cooked often and had a real disdain for packaged food. He and my mother both leaned toward healthier choices, even when we couldn’t always afford them. My father loved international cuisine and would take us to affordable hot spots whenever he could—delis, El Salvadoran pupuserias, and a quaint Malaysian restaurant called Rasa Malaysia.

These experiences deepened my love for food even more—especially the time we spent at my grandmother Clara’s house in Eastern Washington. She didn’t have much, but there was a kind of magic in her kitchen that taught me everything. With Clara, we visited farms, bought produce by the box or bushel, canned, baked, and cooked. She fed the hoards of our Sligar family incredible country meals on what seemed like very little. Coming from what was happening at Mom’s house, I felt like I was in heaven. There was always something to eat—and it was good. It didn’t come from a box or package.

My eldest sister, who was like a second mother to me, was an incredible cook and took us to restaurants. My paternal grandfather, Grandpa David, had a taste for the finer things. We had tea at the Four Seasons a few times, tried dim sum, watched Julia Child and Jacques Pépin on PBS, and saw him recreate those meals for guests—he was a true host.

I know it sounds like a strange contrast—boxed struggle meals on one hand, tea service and duck à l’orange on the other—but all of it existed in my childhood. Somehow, it all fits. And it shaped who I am today as a chef and a person.

I believe the struggles I went through, paired with those varied experiences, led me to this path. Growing food and eating as locally as possible matter deeply to me because they represent power over my own food story. And knowing what rock bottom feels like keeps me grounded in my goals—for myself and for my family.

And hey—if I ever find myself in a rough spot again... there’s always imitation crab.

Chef Notes:

Top Ramen:

We used to shake some hot sauce right into the bag, or add a splash of sesame oil and rice vinegar if we wanted to spice things up. Sometimes we’d make the soup and crack an egg into it. I remember learning at a childhood funeral potluck that some people made what they called “Asian Chicken Salad” using crushed instant ramen as the noodles. My mind was blown—and at this age, I find it pretty funny.

Imitation Crab:

Oddly enough, the imitation crab never had any special preparation. It was just... imitation crab.

Boxed Macaroni:

Boxed mac has a million variations, but most often we’d mix in canned tuna or peas—if we had them. Many times, we ate it just as it came.
Here’s the link to how I make boxed mac these days: YouTube Video Here.