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Homage

As I stand in your kitchen, with copper pots and cast iron skillets hanging from the rafters, and look at all of your gadgets-everything from a lemon zester to a poached egg pan, I realize that actually, you were a gourmet. Although, you would never admit or commit to gourmet cooking, and said on a regular basis how much you hated cooking, you had a “thing” about serving the mundane. As everyone else’s mother was cooking meatloaf-something I know that you had a complete aversion to, potato chip casserole, and Jell-O salad, you were busy placing a steak and rice dish (with pimentos added “for color”) on the table that would make Julia Childs mouth water.

And, even though we all LOVED your oyster dressing-all of my friends would turn their noses up at the mere thought of an oyster adorning their tables at Thanksgiving. While everybody else in this small southern town was having green bean casserole-we were munching on asparagus, with a light lemon butter sauce. I am in awe of how small things like that can carry with you throughout life.

For a long time, I didn’t really appreciate the magnitude of the subtle differences between you and “everyone else’s” mother. I didn’t really know until I was an adult that “different” really meant gourmet.  Other people’s lack of knowledge or a larger spectrum made our food traditions seem “different.” Now, as I live in the home where you made the magic of family traditions that I will carry on forever, I am struck by how very awesome you really were-in many ways-but especially in the kitchen.

After raising three kids, working full-time, taking care of your parents, and dealing with whatever else was thrown your way, you still managed to give us a feeling that I can only describe as cozy. Much of that feeling comes from what was on the table every night and every holiday.

If you were here, I would ask you why you hated cooking, but yet, were so very good at it. How you managed, even though you eventually became a “gourmet” vegetarian, to stand over that stove, meal after meal, and produce the tastes that I still try to reproduce. And, how you managed to raise children, all of whom who love cooking and consider themselves gourmets and connoisseurs of fine wine. Hmmm.

You would probably say that it was “the skillet that gives whatever the flavor.” Well, now that I am here, and toiling over that same skillet, I know how wrong that statement really is. I am so irritated that I can’t-even though I like to think of myself as a gourmet, create those exact flavors. You would be proud to know that I have now gone organic-something you have been touting for years (even before it was the thing to do) and am dipping my toes into the world of veganism. And as a side note-I have even started canning HOMEGROWN fruits and vegetables! You would smile at me right now.

As you now Rest In Peace, be assured that we are still running around trying to replicate the magic that made every day warm and fuzzy. Just know that you have a hand in every dish that makes it to my table and your place is still set. As the holidays approach I am trying to be what you always found important-happy and healthy-gourmet or not. If that makes me “different,” so be it.