wasn't cooking she was baking. ... And, as if that weren't enough, when she wasn'
t cooking or baking she was canning. ... we haven't cooked or baked together.
Cook My mother would cook and cook and cook. Some days from morning to night. When she wasn’t cooking she was baking. Cookies, cakes and just about every confection you could dream of. And, as if that weren’t enough, when she wasn’t cooking or baking she was canning. All sorts of stuff including her own personal pickles, jams and jellies. She was Emeril Lagasse, Betty Crocker and Aunt Jemima rolled into one. If it could be done in the kitchen my mother knew how. I was often recruited to help. Not that I minded one bit. I shared her love of cooking (even if I was the pickiest eater on earth). My mother and I didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things and the tension grew as I grew older. The one thing that never went away through all the bad times was our shared love of cooking. In our kitchen we had this antique post office chair. It was there since I can remember. My grandmother had obtained it in an auction in her home town. That’s where as a little boy I sat for hours on hours watching my mother cook. My feet didn’t even reach the floor. I had to watch every one of her moves. The kitchen was also stocked with around every cooking utensil known to man. I’m sure half of them she didn’t use. I really don’t think she ever used a measuring device. She would reach in one old tin for a handful of flour and into another for a handful of sugar to combine in a mixing bowl with a few eggs, wedge of butter, a couple of drops of vanilla and a pinch of salt. Then the blender came out. Years of experience, and tasting as she went along, let her know just the right amounts of everything. I picked up her methods the best I could. A pinch here and a handful there. Mom
watching over my shoulder adjusting the mix when I was light or heavy on any of the ingredients. When the mixing was done our labor of love went into the oven. When it was done (I already had the heavenly treat of licking the batter off the blades in the blender) I was never disappointed. My mother and I grew apart over the years. In the last few years we reconnected but still we haven’t cooked or baked together. Maybe one of these days I’ll suggest it. Chris Tasiopoulos
