What I Want Them To Remember
I want them to remember that my roasted chicken was tender, moist, and flavorful, that I spent half an hour prepping it before it went in the oven, but that I could prep it in under ten minutes if we had to be at baseball practice on time (or at least try).
I want them to remember that I saved the wishbone every single time I roasted a chicken, and was conscientious enough to remember whose turn it was to make a wish.
I want them to remember how I made stock from the leftover roasted chicken for awesome soups or pasta sauces the next day...Tortilla Soup, Potato Soup, Spilt Pea Soup, Acorn Squash Soup...and of course, steamed shellfish or pasta with feta, sundried tomatoies, broccoli and toasted pine nuts. All with the stock that I simmered as I followed up on homework, gave vitamins dutifully, and washed dishes with lavender scented soap.
I want them to remember a home that was filled with love...a home that had the culinary aromas to prove it. Mom had the cooking to back it up - "I love you" also meant "Warm your soul with soup, calm your fears with tomato and bean salad with basil."
I want them to do these very things for my grandchildren. And invite me over to dinner.
I will always remember that the staple food of Hawaiians (my father's side of the family) is SPAM. The comfort food of mornings consists of Portuguese sausage, eggs, and rice. Not typical of the american fare of Pancakes and eggs.
Unfortuanatly being a foodie of sound mind, I rarely get to cook in my own kitchen. Why? You may ask. It's because I'm married to a picky-eater who dislikes all green vegetables, mushrooms, onions, garlic, seafood, and dairy products. That pretty much covers everything. After failed attempts and turned-up noses, I have sadly given up cooking at home for him.
It's a good thing I love to teach. And teaching about food is even better!
P.S. Love your blog and site.
~Melissa (Comment this)