Day 7 - Thanks for teaching me to cook, Mom:)

I adjusted my pillows and climbed into bed.  The clock on the nightstand read 10:00.  I smiled and was genuinely giddy - in bed at 10pm - I'll get a great night's sleep! 

As I do every night, usually no matter what time I climb into bed, I reached for a book.  I grabbed "Kitchen Counter Cooking School" - I had just picked it up at the library that day.  I started and was instantly mesmerized.  The author goes into women's kitchens - into their pantries and refrigerators - and then sits down to lunch with them all in preparation for her to teach them how to cook and eat better.  She was having the same experience I had just a few days ago cleaning out my friend's pantry: expired food - not just one box, but many boxes of the same item; refrigerators that held rotting produce - bought with the best intentions, but never used; women who wanted to eat better, but simply didn't know how. 

And then the author opened my eyes to something: all of these women said they'd never been taught how to cook.  Really?  I had never thought about this: where does one learn to cook?  How do I know how to cook?  The answer: my mother.  And my grandmothers.  And Dad does make a great apple pie (though I prefer his chocolate creme with homemade whip cream.)  

 I was lucky enough to grow up in a house where we all (five kids, two parents) sat down to a home-cooked dinner every night.  I've known for years how good a thing this was for our family.  But to realize what was actually on the table: real food - made with real produce, real meat.  Not something that came out of a box in the freezer.  (Well, only on the rare occasions Dad was left to feed us on his own - then we got frozen pizza, to which he always added a little oil and oregano.) 

I know my mother had to learn to cook at a young age - she lost her father, and her mother was a full-time working single mom in a time when that was very unusual.  My mother learned to cook in a time before pre-packaged food really came into the mainstream, in a time when home ec class still taught us how to cook.  I don't know if my mother loved cooking, but she loved being a mom, and maybe cooking for us was just part of that?  I'll have to ask her.  What she did do was model good behaviors for us - from the rule about only one after-school snack to having us wait until dad came home from work to sit down to a home-cooked meal.  Food brought us together. Meatballs at Grandma Gallo's every Sunday.  Family parties - pot luck.  And when Mom and Dad went away, Grandma Doss spoiled us with her delicious homemade delights. 

I don't recall Mom specifically teaching me to cook, but I was always welcomed into the kitchen to help and given an age-appropriate job.  And when she couldn't get her Christmas cookies to come out right, she invited her mother-in-law over to bake with us - thereby instilling in me a love of baking even though she didn't share the same feeling.  Her teaching escalated when her kids started to move out.  Sometimes three of us would call in one day from our respective apartments to ask her about a dish we were trying to replicate.  To this day, one of my greatest joys is helping Mom in the kitchen the day before a holiday gathering.  (This Christmas, I made nearly all the cookies:) )

So all of this got me thinking that I should call my Mom and thank her.  I looked over at the clock: 11:40!  So much for going to bed on time.  And so much for calling Mom - she was fast asleep by then.  So instead, I wrote a little card and sent it off:)