Too Many Cooks - Oral Fixation...

I submitted this one for the "Too Many Cooks", but it, too, did not make the cut.  I am not sure I have anything for the other themes for the rest of the season.  However, I figured I would post this - It was to honor my mother who was OCD about cooking.

Just looking at me, I bet you could not tell I was a “Foodie.”  Well, I am.  I love eating all sorts of new and interesting foods.  One of the many things I thank my mother for having taught me.  I learned to love broccoli as “little trees”, Brussel sprouts were “little cabbages,” and asparagus as “tall trees.”  However, in my honest opinion, no one could cook like my mother and probably never will.

The repertoire of meals may have repeated themselves from time to time and my mother was keen on trying new recipes.  However, the holiday dinners were always a standard:

Easter – Ham, potato salad, deviled eggs, some green vegetable, and coconut cake

Memorial Day/4^th of July/Labor Day – BBQ pork butt, potato salad, corn, and some dessert

Thanksgiving – Turkey, corn bread dressing, candied yams, broccoli or asparagus, rolls, pumpkin pie, pumpkin bread, pecan pie, and maybe a coco-cola or chocolate candy cake.

Christmas – for many years was the same as Thanksgiving until my mother grew tired of cooking turkey, so we would have prime rib roast, mashed potatoes, broccoli/green beans/asparagus, and ring of coconut cake

In the early days, not sure how my parents managed it, but we would go to both relatives homes for the holiday dinner.  My mother was keen on telling me the story of how she had cooked a turkey and on their way to Chauvin, LA to see my father’s side of the family, my father had cut pieces off of the turkey to eat.  By the time they got to his home, the turkey was completely gone.

By the time my family had moved to West Monroe, LA, we started staying home to have holiday dinners.  My mother would slave in the kitchen and my father and I would either play some board game or watch TV.  As I got older, my mother would start trying to introduce me to some cooking aspects.

Most of my life, I lived in a mobile home.  The mobile home was easier to move with every time my father’s company would transfer him to another area.  So, the kitchen was pretty small.  It was very easy for people to step on one another if there were a lot of people in the house.

As I got older, my mother was growing tired of being the one always cooking the meals.  Most of the time, she was not feeling well or was not getting enough sleep.  Before the holidays, my mom would have a temper regarding being the one slaving in the kitchen.  At this point, I had learned how to make iced tea, bake corn bread, and clean the vegetables as she liked.  I was horrible at handling a knife when peeling potatoes.  She would watch me and finally give up, telling me that she was afraid I would cut myself in addition to have taken off more potato than skin.

This particular year, I said I would help with cutting the celery.  I wanted to help.  I felt bad that I was not doing more.  Then, again, I also had other things I really wanted to do, so guilt won that decision.

As I sat at the table, I asked my mom to show me how she wanted the celery chopped.  I watched intently as she chopped the celery.  My mom was very precise with doing the chopping, so when it came my turn, I worked to chop the celery as she had.  It was fairly nerve-wrecking to be chopping and my mother watching me like a hawk.  When I would chop a piece not to her liking, she would promptly say “Melissa, that is not right.  It is too large.”  “No, that is too thin.”  “No – you want something a little thicker.”  “Why are you not getting this?”  Finally, she got fed up with my chopping ability stating that I had no clue what I was doing and was better off doing it herself.  Furthermore, I was wasting her time if I was not going to do the job right.  She ordered me out of the kitchen – immediately.

I went to my room, closed the door, and put on my headphones.  Part of me was happy I did not have to be involved in that.  It was way too stressful.  However, I had, again, disappointed my mother.  The one thing I worked so hard not to do – I always wanted to make her proud of me and I felt like a total screw up.

After that incident, I backed away from offering help.  The jobs I knew I could do well were making the iced tea, baking the corn bread, toasting the bread,  as well as making pies, cakes, and rolls.  I lent a hand when I was asked, but one needed to realize that there was only one cook in that kitchen and that was my mom.  Otherwise, there were too many cooks and that did not work.

In 2000, my mom had been diagnosed with colon cancer.  She endured chemotherapy for several months.  She was tired a lot of time, but when it came to doing the holiday dinner, she was in the kitchen doing her thing.

By 2001, I decided it was time to move out into my own apartment.  Earlier that year, my mom and I had talked while doing some shopping.  She felt it was time I move out – not because she was pushing me out, but wanted to make sure that I could make it on my own.  Her worry was that if something happened to her, I would not be able to make it on my own.  Oddly enough, when I did get the apartment to move out, she got really pissed off.  She acted supportive by getting me a sofa, flatware, microwave, and other items I needed.  However, when she talked to her friends, she was really angry at me for moving out on her.  I was really shocked when I learned of this.

During this time, I would cook the things I knew I could do, but I knew I had to open up my own repertoire of recipes.  I would go home on the weekends, so I would sit and watch my mom cook.  I finally asked her to show me how to make the goulash she would always make.  I wrote down everything and learned that many of her recipes were to taste – not measured.  That was why I was so good at baking because one did not go off the recipe too much.  However, with cooking, one will cook the original recipe, then tweak it the subsequent times.

In 2005, I moved into a nicer apartment.  The first apartment had a galley kitchen and the new apartment had a larger kitchen.  I was cooking more meals for myself and I needed more space for doing the prep work.  My mother was so happy over that, for Christmas, she got me a Calphalon cooking set. 

In 2008, my mother was diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer.  Even before we knew what she had, I knew whatever illness she had was going to be cancer and this time, we would not be so lucky.  As she was undergoing chemotherapy and radiation treatments, that Thanksgiving, my father, mother, and I had to share cooking responsibilities.  I worked to get everything chopped for the dressing the night before as I was preparing the cornbread and toast.  The next morning, as my mother was putting everything together for the dressing, she was pleased with how the celery and onion were chopped.  Oddly enough, the turkey that year fell apart when it was removed from the oven.  It was not a bad tasting turkey, but it made everyone laugh.

My mom’s health began to deterorize rapidly in 2009.  I spent more days at my parent’s house than my own apartment helping to care for my mother.  I would cook dinner from time to time.  Even though what I prepared was generally okay, my mother would tell me she knew it was good, but due to chemo, everything tasted like shit.  I would only smile and try something else, but not much I could do. 

However, at one point, my mom asked me why I did not try to cook more meals while living at home.  I smiled and said “mom, I never cut or peeled anything to your liking.  It was better to cook without you in the kitchen because no matter what, the food would come out tasting good.”  She was not happy about that, but she knew I was right.

That Thanksgiving would be the last one with my mom.  I worked hard to prepare the meal as she would have liked.  I knew she enjoyed it when she gave me the thumbs up and told me how good it was, even though she just could not eat much of it.

My mom passed away January 2010.  The holidays have never quite been the same without her.  One year, my father decided to spend Thanksgiving with some friends.  While I had invites from friends to spend the holiday with them, I chose to stay home with my furry family and I fixed Thanksgiving dinner for us.  When saying “grace”, I thanked my mother for helping me learn how to stand on my own.