Before the Internet, or at least the Internet as we know it, I used to call my mom to ask her questions as I started to learn to cook. To prepare meals on my own, as a newly married woman, as someone exploring the kitchen, deeper into it than boiling water and making pasta. I needed to know what cut of meat to buy to make a respectable roast beef. Or, how long to cook it. Do I season or brown it before roasting? Recipes were not at the ready. They were not a click away. But my mother was a phone call away. And always happy to hear from one of her young adult daughters, who lived on her own.
She always had the answer. For how long should I parboil the potatoes? “Stick a fork in them and see how soft they are. Can you mash them?” Most of her suggestions or advice were obvious. Then I began to wonder if I needed her guidance, or perhaps I just wanted to know that I still needed her, and that she would always be there with the answer.
So now I have two of my own “young adults” in college. They both cook for themselves a lot -- for college students. It impresses me any time I hear that they are grocery shopping or in the kitchen preparing a meal for themselves. I think of my mother. And recently, as they have become accustomed to their kitchens, and exploring dishes other than pasta and scrambled eggs, they now call me. My son reaches out more often. He’ll ask, “Mom, how should I prepare these pork chops?” Or, “How do I know if this steak is still good to cook?” My vegetarian daughter doesn’t ask as often, she’s a cook in her own right, with culinary instincts I may never cultivate.
But what I notice is how life turns. I’m not doing the calling and asking anymore. It’s my children, who now turn to me for basic advice in the kitchen. And sometimes I wonder, if it’s the advice they are looking for, or simply a way to connect as we are some distance apart. My kitchen is quiet. I cook, I reminisce and then try to find ways to distract myself with new recipes so that the words on the page (or screen) keep me occupied, instead of thoughts of them and how I used to cook for four instead of two.
And now, when I prepare meals, I think of my mother. I cook extra so that I can freeze meals for her, so I know she will eat healthy food, prepared lovingly with care. My mother doesn’t enjoy cooking anymore. She says it has become a chore, something she just doesn’t feel like doing anymore. She’s lost weight. I bring her my homemade dishes and she tells me how good they are.
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