Greetings to all the great men and women, who love to cook, pretend to
cook, or just hate cooking but do it to survive. I say "March On," no
pun intended, whomever you are! One thing is sure; we are going to
find a way to eat.
Maybe you are a restaurant person, or fast-food junkie, who would just
rather have someone else do the cooking. We all have our talents,
some of which that do not lend to the love of cooking.
One such lady came by my book signing booth and told me that she
didn't cook. She had three children ranging from early teens down to
middle age, all of which did not look emaciated. "Oh, you poor
children," I replied, "your mom doesn't cook." They all chuckled, and
then I proceeded to continue this conversation. "How do you feed
these children?" I asked. "Oh," she replied, "we just pick up some
fast food, or I usually just throw something together." The kids all
nodded, and smiled.
She went on to say, "You know, my mom really didn't like anyone
messing around in her kitchen, so I never learned". "I can
sympathize, I said, "but I definitely cannot empathize."
I went on to tell her that my best memories growing up were the smells
erupting from my mom's kitchen. The smell of pasta sauce cooking every
Sunday morning would promise a delicious afternoon dinner. Or coming
home from school and the smell of yeast filling the kitchen would
quickly let me know homemade bread was in the oven. The late night
cookies, muffins, and streusels my dad craved, were all the things
produced in my mom's kitchen, as well as etched in my heart.
I went on to tell her that my mother, too, did not have a cooking
mentor. Her mother, my grandmother, Rosalia, was a frail little woman
that was mostly ill all her life. She only made "survival" food for
her large family; pots of soups and stews along with baking bread and
the necessities. When my mom married, going out to the restaurant for
a meal was very rare, as money would not provide for it. Since she
had no teacher, she volunteered to help a lady, mom called, "Miss Mary
the cook." This lady cooked for the Italian weddings, and always
welcomed help. It was in this setting that my mom learned to cook.
She was not paid monetarily, but far more in valuable experience. She
was not only blessed, but of course her family as well.
I can't say that my mother had patients when it came to letting us in
her kitchen, but she did it anyway so that we would not have to repeat
her experience. I was so glad she did.
I encouraged the young women, that even if it wasn't her fondest thing
to do, to give cooking a try and make some memories for her children.
Some suggestions were joining a cooking class, purchasing cooking
videos, or finding a mentor that she could glean from once or twice a
week. And of course, I offered her one or both of my cookbooks, which
are easily read and the recipes simple and laid out. After more
encouragement, she decided to buy both books, all depending on my
e-mail help if she got "stuck."
It was sometime later at another book signing that we again met.
"How's the cooking coming?" I asked.
She said she loved the cookbooks and that she was actually involving
her children in making some of the recipes. I was so elated to hear
her testimony, that I got up from my chair and hugged her.
I don't think there is a one of us that doesn't have a memory of our
mother or grandmother's kitchen; the smells of grandeur, sights of the
platter of cookies, or the feel of the warm roll in our hand. It's
the fabric that binds us together, the place of refuge, love and
nourishment....Mama's kitchen.
How about surprising your family tonight with a piece of warm buttered
banana bread? This is a recipe I have perfected for my next cookbook,
Rosalie Celebrates Family. Can't you smell it now?
God bless,
Rosalie
