I want to take you back in time to thirty-eight years, two months, and twenty-four days ago. I was in the grip of a panic attack. As someone diagnosed with a continuous panic disorder, anxiety episodes are not new to me. But I remember this specific incident vividly mainly because of its documentation in a report by Linda Parker of the Kentucky Post. She crystalized my public failure at the National Spelling Bee, where I stumbled on the word "phyllophorous." It was an embarrassing moment watched by reporters, competitors, family, friends, and random adults attending the event.

Jump to the present day, and I'm grappling with spelling "bourguignon" without assistance. Even after all these years, I'm still beset by the same mortification, though now I have a career as a writer and editor for a renowned food publication under my belt. Despite years of therapy and medication lessening my extreme physical responses, certain culinary terms always have me reaching for the spell checker.

In the childhood era of 1986, there was no spell checker within easy grasp, unless you count my dad's hefty Merriam-Webster dictionary. Maybe it's the absence of those early digital aids that exacerbates my insecurity about spelling words like “buratta,” “burrata,” (the correct spelling), “bouillon,” (not “boulion” or “bouillion”) and “bouillabaisse” without referencing.

On a more uplifting note, I do admit to a sense of triumph when I type "fettuccine," "Worcestershire," "hors d'oeuvres," and "focaccia" without receiving a red underline from Google Docs. Ironically, the infamous "phyllophorous" also gets underlined, but that word, meaning 'producing leaves,' is now part of my personal dictionary.

Many colleagues at Food & Wine share in this spelling angst too. Editor in chief, Hunter Lewis, confessed his struggle with "hors d'ourves" and "muffaletta." Senior drinks editor Prairie Rose battles with "Daiquiri," "Curaçao," "Caipirinha," "Sbagliato," and "Boulevardier". Associate editor, Amelia Schwartz, recounted a time when not a single person at a dinner party could spell "restaurateur."

Furthermore, Hunter confessed to practicing the pronunciation of "sommelier" endlessly. Meanwhile, executive editor, Karen Shimizu, admitted difficulty with both spelling and saying "capsaicin." Associate editorial director, Dylan Garret, shared that he was no stranger to embarrassing himself in meetings with pronunciation missteps.

Personally, as a wordsmith who flew to Washington D.C. to compete on a national spelling stage, the correct spelling of ingredients, dishes, and beverages holds both professional and personal significance to me. This precision is not just about a love for language; it's closely tied to my passion for food. I am not embarrassed. I care. So if I need a little help with spelling sometimes, I concede, my pride is easy to swallow - especially when served with bourguignon.