In all my life I never had a need to learn to cook. My mom was a great cook, and she loved to do it. She made fabulous meals for every get together, and always made too much. Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter – it was always at her house and she was the host. Cheese balls, dips, chips, veggies, fruit salad, it was all there ready to snack on before the main meal even began. She used to make this absolutely phenomenal Brandy Dip for fruit that I simply couldn’t get enough of. She modeled it after the stuff you get at La Madeleine with the strawberries, which probably doesn’t have actual brandy in it, like Mom’s did.
We used to make fudge at Christmas. All kinds of fudge. We passed it out as gifts. Maple Walnut, regular chocolate, mint chocolate, peanut butter, I can’t even remember all the types we tried. She taught me to make it so that I can do it in my sleep and that’s a tradition I will always have in my heart. We laughed so hard when one time she forgot to put the sugar in… she was stirring and stirring and getting all sorts of irritated – why isn’t this turning? she fumed. I looked over – well Mom it sure doesn’t look right, did you put everything in? And that’s when we discovered no sugar! We simply laughed, threw it away and started over. Mom and I loved to go to Hobby Lobby to buy all those little containers to put the fudge in. We loved Hobby Lobby, period. In fact, on the very last outing I took her on – in February – we went to Hobby Lobby. I pushed her around in her wheelchair and she had a great time just looking and looking.
When Mom discovered how much I love almond extract she made an entire recipe up just for me. She took Lemon Cookies and turned them into Almond Cookies. They even had almond frosting on them. They made the largest batch of cookies you’ve ever seen – like 48 cookies or something insane – so it would have been sweet of me to share them with everyone…. but I didn’t. Her chocolate pie was to die for. I used to request that, along with twice-baked potatoes every time I came home to visit. And Dad would make chicken on the Big Grill just for me, even though everyone else wanted steak.
Mom had this way of cooking that was so like Julia Child – just flinging flour and shit everywhere and not caring one jot about cleaning anything up until later. I don’t know if I was amused or horrified but I definitely have a habit of cleaning up as I go now. She would have large flour handprints on her black pants that she almost always wore – I think she had about twelve pairs of black cotton capris. She didn’t care about the flour – she’d just shrug and smile and keep going. She had a wonderful habit of cussing as she cooked. You’d hear her muttering “shit!” and “fuck!” as she fiddled with something over the stove or as she tried to maneuver something into the oven. Her fridge was a haven of things long forgotten about.”Mom! What’s in the sour cream container in the back here?! Is it actually sour cream?” Hell I don’t know! She’d reply. We cleaned out her cupboards once and found canned goods from the 80’s — no lie.
Mom is short – so she had her library stool that she kicked around the kitchen in order to reach things. I have that stool in my kitchen today. It was a bittersweet moment when I took that from her house and put it in mine. I remember she used to have this yellow plastic tea pitcher that she’d toss some lipton tea in – without measuring – and then stand at the sink sighing while the water ran full blast into the pitcher. It was such a “moment” for her. I wish I still had that pitcher.
Mom made me anything I wanted – even as a kid. French toast was my favorite breakfast and I’d stand watching her flatten it into oblivion with the spatula. Why do you do that Mom? I asked one day. I don’t know, she shrugged – I’ve always done it. So now, of course, I flatten my french toast with the spatula. Maybe it makes it taste more like the bacon grease, I really don’t know but I still do it. And I think of Mom every time.
There are so many memories of Mom in her kitchen. In Harker Heights – where I lived as a kid – the eating area was in the kitchen and she used to sit at that table and smoke and read way into the evening. That’s where I’d find her if I needed to talk to her about something. That’s where the wall phone with the long cord was, where the kitschy trash can she found in Canton was, and the wire mesh basket that hung from the ceiling that held the potatoes. That wire mesh basket used to hang in the kitchen in Tyler, too, and finally made its way to my own kitchen. I also have the 70’s spice rack that is dark brown with faded and peeling pictures of all the spices on the front. I actually use it, too.
There are some things you just can’t let go of. In my mind my Mom will always be in her kitchen. And I’ll always be there with her, talking and laughing and eating and smiling and living and loving her.
