Ok people- by which I mean family members. Before anyone else tries to clobber me with a Kitchenaid because of my post about my mother's damn chicken episode, before anyone else tries to come to her defence whinging that she couldn't cook before she got married- wah wah, consider this. This episode did not happen when I was a wee baby and my folks were somewhat newlywed. I was old enough to know exactly what my dad was pissed off about and more importantly, old enough to agree with him. I'm not saying that his reaction was justified but come on people, if you had to eat the same thing day in, day out you would be a little fucked off too.
I was in my early teens when this incident happened. I was old enough to remember being a child, going to the library with my mother so she could copy recipes into her black and white notebook. I remember her making things then. I remember her baking a ham (not necessarily for any holiday either). The same ham that I recently reminded her of when she asked about a Thanksgiving dish from my childhood. I reminded her of exactly what she glazed it with. I remember her making gotlet chicken for us- boy did I love those little pieces of odd shaped chicken. To this day when I see them on the menu I can't order them because my mom's will always seem better. Does this sound like a woman who could only cook oatmeal? I didn't think so.
All I am saying is that I remember a time when she made an effort and I remember a time when she lost her way. It was that effort (and non-effort) as well as my dad's cooking and family celebrations that started me on this cooking journey.
I was in my early teens when this incident happened. I was old enough to remember being a child, going to the library with my mother so she could copy recipes into her black and white notebook. I remember her making things then. I remember her baking a ham (not necessarily for any holiday either). The same ham that I recently reminded her of when she asked about a Thanksgiving dish from my childhood. I reminded her of exactly what she glazed it with. I remember her making gotlet chicken for us- boy did I love those little pieces of odd shaped chicken. To this day when I see them on the menu I can't order them because my mom's will always seem better. Does this sound like a woman who could only cook oatmeal? I didn't think so.
All I am saying is that I remember a time when she made an effort and I remember a time when she lost her way. It was that effort (and non-effort) as well as my dad's cooking and family celebrations that started me on this cooking journey.
2 comments:
your mom is very inventive and creative in her cooking. You must have inherited this tendency. Just remember how important "aroma" is to your dad.
In your dad's world, "aroma" aka "that bush out in front", (basil), is currently taking the place of "I don't taste the love in the food you're cooking for me".
Bet they smell basil when they exume his body over "suspicious" circumstances!
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