Skip to content

Why I Cook

January 1, 2012

I can’t remember a time when I didn’t cook.

When I was very little I stood beside my mother, stirring. It was fun because I got to lick the spoon when we were done!  Later I learned to bake toll house cookies that we’d pack up in popcorn and ship off to my brothers, who were lots older (or so it seemed at the time) and already away at camp or at college. And I loved home economics, a subject long since dropped from public school curricula, but a staple for girls back when I was a girl.

In our family, good food was central. With rare exception, my parents would lament the quality of restaurant fare, even at so called fine restaurants, and extoll the virtues of the food we ate at home.

And really, with the great food my mother made, it was perfectly understandable. She was a complicated and challenging person, but in the kitchen she was simply an excellent cook who whipped up something wonderful every day and never measured anything.

I’d come home from school and the delicious aromas from her kitchen would be the first things that greeted me. Garlicky pork roast crisping in the oven. Rich meat sauce that had already been simmering for hours. Baked apples that smelled of sugar & cinnamon.  Peppers just sautéed in garlic & olive oil and waiting to be added to the veal that was being browned as I walked through the door.

Some people don’t like to cook and can’t quite understand the joys of it. But to me cooking for the people in my life has always been about love … thanks to my mother.


From → Food & Cooking

Leave a Comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: