My mom is a caterer, a charcuterie board master, a chef—whatever you want to call her. She often reminisces about her time living in NYC in the 80s and dating one of the owners of Dean & DeLuca while she worked there (I'm not sure which one she dated). She would put together gift baskets and make chicken salad like it was an art form.

Lisa, my mother, always had the Food Network on in the background throughout my childhood. While kids were crushing on Bieber, I was crushing on Ina Garten (at the tender age of 9). I couldn't get enough of her.

There was this one episode I caught a glimpse of when I was doing homework in the TV room. Ina was cooking cherry tomatoes in a pan—bright red and gorgeous, cut side down in olive oil. I don’t recall what she served them with or how she seasoned them, but that image stuck with me. I wanted to recreate the way she made those tomatoes sizzle and wrinkle on the skin side while remaining soft and juicy inside.

Maybe that same week, or perhaps that day (sorry, I was nine, cut me some slack), my mom brought home cherry tomatoes. It wasn’t unusual; my Israeli father snacked on tomatoes like they were apples. Mom always encouraged me to cook in the kitchen, so I wasn’t hesitant to ask if I could make dinner that night. I took those cherry tomatoes, halved them (just like Ina), grabbed our slightly battered stainless steel pan from the cabinet, and got to work. I poured in about half a cup of olive oil, tossed in plenty of Italian herbs (some freshly picked from our summer garden), and let the tomatoes cook until the oil turned vibrant red and filled the kitchen with its aroma.

That Ina-inspired creation soon became a staple in our home. We’d toss those tomatoes with pasta, use them as a dip, or simply eat them on their own or with some hard-boiled eggs. I felt like their little chef, and I loved every minute of it.