I love reading other blogger nostalgia.
The passing down from generation to generation.
The warm feeling you get when you picture the family gathered around food and memories.
I thought what would it look like if I tried to write like that?
Well here it is.
My mom, whom I loved dearly, occasionally made me TV dinners in the oven.
It was way before the invention of the microwave. TV dinners from
the oven taste so much better than microwaved ones.
Mom didn’t cook much.
Normal fare at our family table (which turned to a single parent family table
when I was about 12) was a can of Campbell soup and a sandwich comprised
of whatever salad spread the store may have had on sale that week.
Mom could make some mean fried grits and peanut butter fudge. That was
the extent of her culinary talents, and she never taught me. To this day
I can never get my grits to fry properly or my peanut butter fudge to set.
Maybe it is a subliminal message of me wanting to make my Mom do something great…
or maybe a subliminal message that I don’t want to be like Mom? (Don’t
get me wrong, I loved my Mom but I do want to be honest.)
I do remember a bit of my grandmother who died when I was very young.
She cooked, but I was so young I don’t remember what she cooked.
The only thing I can remember was the cinnamon toast I used to
beg for on Saturday mornings if I had spent the Friday night before.
I can imagine a ton of warm memories with cinnamon toast and Grandma.
Well mom passed on and I married.
I continued the traditions of soup, sandwich and TV dinners, for a while.
I didn’t know how to cook and didn’t have a notion of what fun cooking
I can thank my “mother in law”, whom I also loved dearly, for one day.
She has also passed, and the incident seems sort of mean but it was a blessing in disguise.
I came to visit and “mom” was in the kitchen peeling
potatoes. My sister in laws were sitting around and talking when
I was asked to help peel potatoes.
I had never peeled a potato so I took it to task to at least try. “Mom”
began to make fun of me as I peeled away about half the potato.
Then suddenly she said. “Sue, you need to cook us lunch.”
She got my sister in laws together and they packed up the potatoes and what ever else
they wanted for lunch that day ( I don’t really remember maybe it was hamburger?),
and we all went to my house at the time.
They knew all I would have at home might be bread and sandwich spread.
I was scared stiff and crying the whole time.
When we got to my house, they all sat at my kitchen table and watched me
as I cried and fried. Then…. They ate it all.
After that fateful day I decided I needed to learn to cook. I decided
I might even like to cook.
I went to the library and gathered up an
armful of cookbooks and started my self taught cooking adventure.
It has been uphill ever since (with and occasional dip which is part of the fun ). I even opened and ran a bed and breakfast
many years later. It is funny but breakfast is not one of my favorite meals.
Warm fuzzies….Except for cinnamon toast.