MY COOKING
Daddy would have
popcorn in a bag on Friday nights. We couldn't have
it when we sisters were young, because Grandma said we couldn't digest it. On
Saturday mornings, we would take what was left in the bag and go outside by the
outhouse and make a small fire and cook the popcorn until it got burned. It was
so good. We couldn't have soda either until we got older. Grandma also said
oranges give you nightmares. I don't know if this is true, but every time I eat
one, I think about this.
As I mentioned before, our menus
hardly ever changed nor did the food that came in the house, but some time
around 1962 a home-made pizza kit in a box came on the market. I guess Mommy
bought it for us. Now the problem was: who was going to make it? We would argue
or pull straws---the shortest was the loser, and for some reason, I always
lost.
Doreen made a chocolate cake one
time that you could ball up and bounce a piece of it off the floor; it was
pretty funny. Nancy and I would
make ourselves things to eat when we were alone: TV dinners, grilled cheese, spaghetti. We were pretty good cooks,
and as we got older, we took over the cooking from Grandma and Dad, just during
the week.
I think my domestic experiences were
why I was okay when I married at 16: I pretty much knew how to do
everything–cooking, the wash, cleaning, and bed-making.
I remember that when
I got married one of the first things I cooked for us was spaghetti as I
usually made it. I put it on the table, and my new husband said, "What's
this, soup?" I was hurt.
The next thing was
chicken, stuffed and roasted. He said, "I hate chicken." I knew I had
to learn cooking all over again. It took me a while to learn his likes and
dislikes. I think after 50 years I have made it.
When I get up North
to my daughter’s, home my grandsons have things they
want me to make for them: spaghetti and meatballs, sloppy Joe's, macaroni
salad, baked beans, potato salad, ravioli, and steak ‘ums. Of course, I enjoy
every part of this. I get to make things my husband doesn't eat and things from
yesteryear.
When I want special
memories, all it takes is the smell of a Christmas tree outside the local store
or seeing some dyed Easter eggs or the aroma of an old family recipe cooked up.
One such recipe is soup, Mom’s soup: soup meat bones, vegetables cooked all
day, served with rice noodles or Klukski, a kind of Polish dumpling. I still
fix this for myself today, as do Doreen and Nancy.
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We are serializing Kathleen Blake Shields's recently published book, Home Is Where the Story Begins: Memoir of a Happy Childhood, available through on-line booksellers such as amazon.com and bn.com and from its publisher, Outskirts Press.
I am proud to have coached Kathy and edited her charming memoir.
My writing - coaching - editing site is http://WriteYourBookWithMe.com. Please visit.
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