Mother and I were talking with Michael tonight about different courses he can take and clubs he can join next year in high school. Mother recalled that my brother had taken a cooking course once and loved it. He is now a FOODIE. I am too. It's cements our relationship. Even when we're pissed off at each other which happens occasionally [cough cough] we can still talk about recipes and foods.
The south is all about food.
My family is all about food. Good food. Food that doesn't come out of a box, usually.
I was inordinately delighted to put into my frittata last night the first produce from my garden, an Italian eggplant, sliced thin and sauteed, along with the onion, red pepper, mushrooms, and other delicious ingredients.
I don't even eat raw tomatoes, but I fuss and fret over the tomato plants in my garden like you wouldn't believe.
I took my boss a tomato from my garden last summer and he washed it and ate it like an apple. I thought wow, what a non-southern thing to do. Where's the white bread, Duke's mayonnaise, and salt?! But I was very flattered. He then told me I needed to bring the other partner some tomatoes.
Score.
I've missed some excellent blogs over at a blog I like called The South in My Mouth, including this one, which I heartily agree with. Mother and I were talking today about her mother (I knew her as Mamaw) and how she considered Chef Boyardee spaghetti and meatballs an exotic dish.
Mamaw was old school. A wonderful old-fashioned southern cook. I will be eating her fried chicken, bisquits and gravy in heaven one day, but the most "different" thing I ever saw her eat was Egg Foo Young.
Anyway, what I loved about Catherine's post was how correct she was about southern mamas, and how one responds to big events. It's simple, really, you "carry food."
My brother and I grew up seeing Mother and Daddy "carry food." The conversation might go something like this:
Dad: "Phil Jones lost his mama last night."
Mother: "Oh dear, can you get out the big yellow pot? I will start the soup right now."
They carried supper to the new neighbors. They carried supper to the couple who just had their first baby. They carried supper to dad's assistant who had just moved into a new house.
When we got a second freezer, Mother started to freeze spaghetti sauce, chili, homemade soup. That way she could instantly produce homemade, yummy food.She just had to time it right so it was thawed by the time Dad got to the house.
Corn muffins freeze well. My mother makes the best corn muffins in the world, the recipe of humorist Lewis Grizzard. I actually shared the recipe not too long ago.
My aunt Jane makes the best banana bread in the world, and she keeps loaves of it in the freezer to carry to folks. I start drooling the moment I hear Mom say "Don and Jane are going to stop by."
When I go to heaven, I will get to eat some of Jane's banana bread hot from the oven, slathered in real butter.[Excuse me while I wipe off some drool]
Anyway, I digressed. As usual.
When my Papaw died in 1972 there was a lot of yummy funeral food. However, nobody brought meat. Mother was appalled. After that, she resolved that when she took food to a funeral it would be a dish containing MEAT.
One cannot sustain life on potato salad or tuna casserole. Not at Elva's house, anyway. [Sorry, vegetarian friends..]
Beef stew, chili, homemade soup - these are the Mother-approved hearty foods for folks who are coping with life's big events. (I like to take things like chicken and rice, or maybe a quiche.)
When my dad died we got about 10 veggie trays and cold cut trays from Kroger. It was July and hot as hell. We didn't particularly wish for veggie trays or cold cut trays. One kind neighbor brought small aluminum loaf pans filled with homemade macaroni and cheese. My brother and I thanked her profusely and hid them. We pulled them out and feasted after everyone had left. God bless her.
One of Mother's close friends cannot cook. She can prepare food that is healthy but she doesn't season anything. She won't even salt it. Her food is as bland as baby food. When I was a kid and ate over there I didn't mind, but as an adult?! No thanks. She brought a lot of food when Dad died. We thanked her profusely and tossed most of it out. She could make good deviled eggs. We ate those.
That's the thing about living in a small town. You know who can cook and who can't cook. Sometimes when you go to a party at the home of a non-cook it's wise to find out if the food was catered, or the host's daughter made the food, or whatever. If you like to go hungry and all that's offered is chips and salsa and maybe some store-bought cookies, you want to be prepared.
When I was in college and started cooking for my friends I always began each dinner party with this announcement: "If this isn't fit to eat, Domino's Pizza is on the speed dial."
I never had to keep that promise.
Of course, hungry college students will eat anything...
I like the fact that my kids have seen me "carry food" to people, many times. I hope they will continue the tradition.
