Growing up, I was always annoyed at my mother for refusing to let us go out for dinner. I never understood why we didn't eat out as much as other families, and I thought that not eating out made us abnormal. The only times we ate out were on birthday's and when ordering pizza on days I had late night orchestra, when mom didn't have the opportunity to cook dinner. I complained all the time that I wanted to eat at Cheeburger Cheeburger, or begged to eat dinner at Guapos on a night when it wasn't one of our birthday's. As much as I loved my mother's cooking, there were instances in which I craved something fast and diverse. Going out to eat was so rare in our household, that my brother and I would get together and try to think of a plan to convince my mother to let us eat out, only to realize she was already preparing dinner.
Me and My Mom 1997
When I left for my freshman year of college I was so excited to be free of dinners at home. I had a meal plan and points, and could basically eat wherever, and whatever I wanted. Dining halls were scattered around campus, and so were sushi, BBQ, and deli places. But my fantasy of eating out all the time was shattered by the realization that eating out kind of sucked. The dining hall's food was bland compared to my mother's cooking, the vegetables were overcooked, the chicken too dry, and the pasta was floating in sauce (What the hell is Rose Sauce?!) Even the food at the restaurants on campus was too heavy, making me feel sick and bloated. I longed for my mom's exquisite, savory recipes of pasta bolognese and salmon with fig marmalade, my mouth watered for her chunks of roasted potatoes and venison stew.
Although my mom denies it, you can tell that cooking has a special place in her heart. She can spend hours in the kitchen working on doughs for pizza and bread, she will make pasta from scratch, and will pull out recipe books to make authentic Chinese, Lebanese, and Indian dishes. She takes her time and puts her heart into making delicious meals, and even creates her own recipes which she writes in a journal. When you walk into the kitchen you can hear her faint humming and can smell the aromatic scents of garlic, olive oil, and lemon; and if you're not doing anything she might ask you to go outside to pick some basil, mint, or arugula growing in the backyard.
My mom has always made it vital in our household to eat all together at the same time, and she always provides variety in what she makes every single day for dinner. She makes the most amazing chili on cold winter days and makes zesty lemon chicken kabobs on hot summer nights. My mom makes filet mignon that seeps with juicy flavor, and fritatas with zucchini, asparagus, potatoes, and sometimes even bits of hot dog.
Friends were always welcome to come over and eat at my home, and I used to joke that they only came over to eat my mom's food. We would eat heaping piles of pizza while watching a movie, or would eat pasta at the dinner table with the rest of my family. Friends would tell me how they enjoyed eating at the table, and some would tell me that they normally didn't eat together with their own family. Most friends would ask me when they could come again to eat my mom's food. My mom got to know and trust my friends by having conversations in the kitchen, she would help us with instructions, and make sure we did everything right when making Tiramisu. We would watch her make quesadilla's and eat them at the table while she asked how my friend's families were. Sometimes I miss the times where I could find my mom preparing dinner, and I miss the time that I spent helping her cook.
Now that I am off-campus and living in a condo, I have to say that I am grateful for having a mom who has made home cooked meals a crucial part of her children’s lives. I have so many amazing memories of being in the kitchen and learning from my mom. She taught me how to use different oils for different recipes and dishes, how to add salt to boiling water when making pasta, and how to make some of my favorite foods, like her infamous tuna patties or chicken cutlets. Being in school and cooking for myself isn’t always easy, sometimes I have to call my mom for some advice on a dish that’s got me stuck, and other times I’ll just pull out some of my mom’s pasta sauce that I have tucked away in my freezer. Either way, cooking reminds me of the importance of healthy and satisfying meals, of adding a spark of creativity to what you place on your plate at night, and learning from your mistakes even if it seems like you'll never surmount them.
What I do know is, is that I hope to one day be able to cook just like my mom. I haven’t finished learning her recipes and secrets, and I know I never will because there is an abundance of information and skill that I will continuously be learning from her. If I ever have a family, if I ever have my own children, I hope that I will be able to cook for my kids as well as my mom did for me and my siblings. I hope to be as enthusiastic about my children's diet as much as my mother was, I hope that my children will be able to smell the amazing spices and taste the unforgettable flavors of genuine food. My mother has helped me realize that I don't want to rely on others to make and prepare my meals, and that I don't want to rely on carry out or menus to decide on what I want to eat. Instead, I want to be able to control how I myself make and eat my food. And for that Mamma, I thank you.
