My inspiration for this post came from my dear, longtime blogging friend, Debbie @ Musings by an ND Domer's Mom, who is not only a gifted...
My stepmother grew to be an outstanding cook. And this was a woman, who at the young age of 21, married my 45-year-old father (with three children) and knew nothing about cooking. She was raised in a family with three older brothers, so she was more of a tomboy than a Betty Crocker or Martha Stewart-type girl. She married into my family, who were your typical Moonstruck Italians, where cooking and eating were about as crucial to them as turning "tricks" are to a prostitute.
I’m sure the first question out of my relative's mouths when my father told them that he had asked my mother to marry him was, “But Frank....CAN SHE COOK?” My mother was honest with my father before she married him and said that she knew nothing about cooking, cleaning, or raising children because she was just a child herself. However, she ended up surprising the hell out of herself and my family because she quickly discovered that she was born with a natural ability to not only cook but also maintain a brilliant household. And I’m not just saying this because she was my mother, but she made Suzy Homemaker look like a novice.
Our home always felt comfortable, relaxed, welcoming, and looked spotlessly clean! I am extremely blessed and proud to have had her as my second mother. I never realized this until I got a bit older and began looking back on my childhood, seeing the positive impact she had on my life.
Anyway, getting back to my mother's cooking….
She was one of those people who never followed recipes as they were written but rather took the basic formula and added her twist. She instinctively knew what to add and subtract, creating a culinary masterpiece. She was like an artist - raw and intuitive. And as far as her Italian cooking went, her marinara sauce was so good that it even impressed my father's mother who was extremely critical of Italian food.
Our Thanksgiving Day dinner was always a feast - a cornucopia of soup to nuts. We inevitably ended up having so much food left over that we could eat turkey, dressing, and all the various side dish ancillaries for the next several days. And speaking of turkey, the bird came out of the oven so tender and juicy that it melted in your mouth.
However. And this was a TRADITIONAL, however...
When it came to the dinner rolls my mother always forgot they were in the oven, therefore about six minutes after sitting down at the table and saying grace, the aroma of scorched rolls came drifting from the kitchen into the dining room. Whereupon she'd quietly scream, “OH, DAMN.…I FORGOT THE DINNER ROLLS!!!!!”
She would JUMP up from the table and RUN to the oven door, throw it open, as a large cloud of black smoke came bellowing out like the burning of Atlanta. At which point she would turn on the overhead exhaust fan, which sucked out all the smoke before the fire department ever got there.
God love her!
And I can still remember her bringing those poor little burnt dinner rolls to the table and telling us to eat them anyway because charcoal is good for cleaning your teeth….
I would like to conclude this post with a photograph I found in a box of family photos. Center, is my mother as a young girl standing in front of her home on Woodstock Street in Germantown, Philadelphia. My mother adored animals. Notice the small kitten she's holding and the cheesy smile on her face. Also, notice the expression on the faces of her girlfriends standing on either side.
Don't you just love old film photographs? No filters, no editing, just spontaneous images...
💟 I miss you and your burnt dinner rolls! 💟
Have a fabulous week, everyone! And Happy Pre-Thanksgiving Day!
💗
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