Food Memories of Mom
Today would have been my mother’s 78th birthday. A lot of people who are really into food say that the most comforting food is food that brings back memories of one’s mother and of one’s childhood home. In my case, that’s only a little bit true.
My mom wasn’t much of a cook, and because of the person she was she would take that as a compliment. She was a true mid-20th century progressive woman who bought wholeheartedly into the idea of the kitchen as enslavement and believed that women needed to achieve things outside the home. She was even probably a little ahead of her time in that she took the odd college course here and there after having four kids by the mid 1960s (my accidental arrival had yet to occur so if any siblings are reading this feel free to correct my facts – I only know what I was later told). Mom didn’t believe in women “achieving equality” with men, her one-liner was “Why would we want to stoop to your level?” However she did believe that her children should be self-sufficient in all ways meaning the girls should know how to do basic home and car fixing stuff and the boys should know how to do their own laundry, clean and cook. Too bad she’s not around; I’d love to show her how well I learned the male half of her philosophy.
Cooking for my mom was a different craft than the one I’m learning today. Mom thought that making a decent-tasting meal as cheaply and quickly as possible was the ideal for the home cook. Consequently, I never had any idea that I liked many vegetables or Mexican food until I was an adult since in our world vegetables came out of a can, salad was a hunk of Romaine lettuce under a blob of Hidden Valley Ranch-just-add-the-milk-and-mayo dressing (later to be supplanted by Kraft bottled Catalina dressing) and Mexican food was Old El Paso Tamales out of a can that my dad loved. Despite this, she did hit two home runs in my culinary world. Two dishes that will always remind me of her. Two dishes that nobody will equal.
One was her sausage and peppers. The Mrs. and I have tried many sausage and pepper recipes over the years and many efforts have been good but none have matched what mom used to make. I have no idea what Betty Crocker card or McCall’s magazine issue she pulled this out of but she made sausage and peppers with red sauce (not usually done, I was shocked to find later) that was sweet and had a slight bite and went perfectly on a half-loaf of Italian bread from Novelli’s pork store.
The other was a real pinnacle of culinary achievement. It was a dish that has likely shaped by entire food worldview.
Oven baked “fried” chicken with frosted flake crust.
Read that again. I do mean “frosted” flake. I know that chicken with corn flake crust is a down-market “classic” of mid-20th century American cooking. Mom took it to the next level by using frosted flakes instead of plain corn flakes. The sugar melted onto the chicken in the oven and added a delectable sweetness that makes the dish absolutely perfect. I have no idea what inspired her to use frosted flakes instead of plain corn flakes (though my best guess is that she just grabbed what we had in the house). Is it any wonder that my favorite food on earth is fried chicken? I’ve had some of the best in the South too. Austin Leslie’s (God rest his soul) at Jacques-Imo’s in New Orleans leaps to mind. We even took a trip to the allegedly original KFC in Kentucky when I was a kid. But nothing is like mom’s corn flake chicken. How could it be?
There were other food lessons from mom. When I was a kid, she allowed me to eat small amounts of raw hamburger meat with black pepper and onion powder although she warned me not to eat too much lest I “get worms”. I have no idea where the idea came from for that to be a treat, but bless her for it. I usually take my meat rare to medium rare to his very day and have a fondness for well-made Carpaccio.
One thing we clashed on was shellfish. When I developed a fondness for squid and clams (thanks to Pete and the late, great Windjammer bar for that) in my late teens-early 20’s she viewed that with disdain. “You’re eating bait!” she would say. “That’s the stuff you use to catch the real fish!” which in her world was filet of sole. Just about ever time I plow into a bowl of steamers or zuppa di mussels or frutta di mare I’ll think to myself “You’re eating bait!” and smile.
The most important thing she gave me was to drill one lesson into my brain: Try anything once. You won’t know if you like something until you try it. Of course, she never realized I would take it to the extreme of ordering the various offal dishes that I’ve tried. Or that my philosophy would expand to include the idea that you should try things you don’t like MORE that once because anything edible can be good if the cook is skilled enough. It’s a philosophy that has enriched my life more than I can express.
Thanks mom. Happy birthday.
My mom wasn’t much of a cook, and because of the person she was she would take that as a compliment. She was a true mid-20th century progressive woman who bought wholeheartedly into the idea of the kitchen as enslavement and believed that women needed to achieve things outside the home. She was even probably a little ahead of her time in that she took the odd college course here and there after having four kids by the mid 1960s (my accidental arrival had yet to occur so if any siblings are reading this feel free to correct my facts – I only know what I was later told). Mom didn’t believe in women “achieving equality” with men, her one-liner was “Why would we want to stoop to your level?” However she did believe that her children should be self-sufficient in all ways meaning the girls should know how to do basic home and car fixing stuff and the boys should know how to do their own laundry, clean and cook. Too bad she’s not around; I’d love to show her how well I learned the male half of her philosophy.
Cooking for my mom was a different craft than the one I’m learning today. Mom thought that making a decent-tasting meal as cheaply and quickly as possible was the ideal for the home cook. Consequently, I never had any idea that I liked many vegetables or Mexican food until I was an adult since in our world vegetables came out of a can, salad was a hunk of Romaine lettuce under a blob of Hidden Valley Ranch-just-add-the-milk-and-mayo dressing (later to be supplanted by Kraft bottled Catalina dressing) and Mexican food was Old El Paso Tamales out of a can that my dad loved. Despite this, she did hit two home runs in my culinary world. Two dishes that will always remind me of her. Two dishes that nobody will equal.
One was her sausage and peppers. The Mrs. and I have tried many sausage and pepper recipes over the years and many efforts have been good but none have matched what mom used to make. I have no idea what Betty Crocker card or McCall’s magazine issue she pulled this out of but she made sausage and peppers with red sauce (not usually done, I was shocked to find later) that was sweet and had a slight bite and went perfectly on a half-loaf of Italian bread from Novelli’s pork store.
The other was a real pinnacle of culinary achievement. It was a dish that has likely shaped by entire food worldview.
Oven baked “fried” chicken with frosted flake crust.
Read that again. I do mean “frosted” flake. I know that chicken with corn flake crust is a down-market “classic” of mid-20th century American cooking. Mom took it to the next level by using frosted flakes instead of plain corn flakes. The sugar melted onto the chicken in the oven and added a delectable sweetness that makes the dish absolutely perfect. I have no idea what inspired her to use frosted flakes instead of plain corn flakes (though my best guess is that she just grabbed what we had in the house). Is it any wonder that my favorite food on earth is fried chicken? I’ve had some of the best in the South too. Austin Leslie’s (God rest his soul) at Jacques-Imo’s in New Orleans leaps to mind. We even took a trip to the allegedly original KFC in Kentucky when I was a kid. But nothing is like mom’s corn flake chicken. How could it be?
There were other food lessons from mom. When I was a kid, she allowed me to eat small amounts of raw hamburger meat with black pepper and onion powder although she warned me not to eat too much lest I “get worms”. I have no idea where the idea came from for that to be a treat, but bless her for it. I usually take my meat rare to medium rare to his very day and have a fondness for well-made Carpaccio.
One thing we clashed on was shellfish. When I developed a fondness for squid and clams (thanks to Pete and the late, great Windjammer bar for that) in my late teens-early 20’s she viewed that with disdain. “You’re eating bait!” she would say. “That’s the stuff you use to catch the real fish!” which in her world was filet of sole. Just about ever time I plow into a bowl of steamers or zuppa di mussels or frutta di mare I’ll think to myself “You’re eating bait!” and smile.
The most important thing she gave me was to drill one lesson into my brain: Try anything once. You won’t know if you like something until you try it. Of course, she never realized I would take it to the extreme of ordering the various offal dishes that I’ve tried. Or that my philosophy would expand to include the idea that you should try things you don’t like MORE that once because anything edible can be good if the cook is skilled enough. It’s a philosophy that has enriched my life more than I can express.
Thanks mom. Happy birthday.
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