Showing posts with label southern cooking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label southern cooking. Show all posts

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

MotherAunt and SisterCousin






















Some of my favorite memories involve my aunts. Connie and Judy are my mother's sisters and have been a constant presence in my life. They used to babysit me, take me along on their dates, dress me up like a doll, etc. Note to Aunt Connie and Aunt Judy: Feel free to buy me pretty dresses any time.) The first time I got on a plane was to visit my Aunt Cess and her family. (Note to Aunt Cess: I still love to visit you and my cousins.) I still have frequent conversations with all of them.

The ladies posing in front of the tree are/were another generation of my mother's side of this wacky family. I can say that because I am also wacky. Front and center in this circa 1988 photo is Zelma (Bobbie,) my grandmother great aunt. Like many families, it was not uncommon for more than one sister to participate in rearing another's child/children. Grandma (on the left) gave birth to my mother and her sisters but Bobbie raised them.

Aunt Ann (next to Grandma) is the baby. She's always had the legs of a woman half her age. She and Uncle Harry have always lived nearby -- sometimes just down the street. Aunt Ann's daughters were my idols when I was in grade school. I didn't want to be like them -- I actually wanted to be them. Since I couldn't accomplish that, I would copy their mannerisms, their clothes, etc. I get to see them this weekend and I can't wait. No one laughs or makes me laugh like my Aunt Ann.

Aunt Jo (other side of Bobbie) died several years ago. I can't say I knew her well but she and my grandmother were thick as thieves. They might have been thieves for all I know; they walked a little bit on the wild side. Like my grandmother, Aunt Jo had some assistance from a sister in raising some of her children.

Aunt Hazel and Uncle Bob's (far right) youngest child is about my age. I used to go over for sleepovers with her. Aunt Hazel declared me, "Best Eater." Her children all had issues with vegetables or phobias about one food touching another on the plate. I was taught to eat whatever was put in front of me, especially at someone else's house. I'll have to let Aunt Hazel know that I still am a pretty good eater. It helps that all of the women of this generation are/were amazing cooks. Most, if not all, of their daughters are too.

Aunt Wanda and Aunt Grace died before the photo above was taken but I still have vivid memories of them too.

From a family of 13 children, (most of them pictured in the photo above taken in 1934) a large and blended family has emerged. I see parts of personalities that remained true their entire lives. Bobbie is sitting in a proper and ladylike way on the porch. She remained a pillar of strength and ladylike kindness her entire life. Grandma is sitting alone at the other end of the porch on the swing. She often removed herself from people and situations.

Each generation since then has become a little more fragmented but many of us are closer than ever. Can you imagine the two people sitting on that porch swing in the 1934 photo (my great grandparents) being told that in a few short generations, their offspring would travel by plane or communicate regularly through computers and cell phones. What if someone had told them that I would learn of my cousin's new job through a text message? While posing with their children, imagine if someone had told them that in 2009, their great granddaughter would take 10 seconds to scan this photo and write about their legacy.

Some people have mothers who they find out later is really grandmother. Some people have sistercousins and brothercousins. Some people go far into adulthood before finding out that mother is really auntmother. Our family has some of those mixed relationships. For the most part we don't hide it; we embrace it. There's enough love to go around and then some.

Friday, July 27, 2007

Cooking Styles

Cooking is weird in my house. Everyone thinks they are an expert -- except the Unabomber who waits to be served. My cooking is quick, efficient and usually quite tasty.

I came home from the lake today in the early afternoon. The mother-in-law announced her plans for dinner. Very nice, but I don't know if we'll be participating. I wandered out of my office mid afternoon and broccoli is soaking in a pot. For some reason, this made me crazy. You can steam fresh broccoli in the microwave for 4 minutes and it is delicious. Why are we soaking it at 3:00 P.M.? She's making some kind of rice and/or stuffing. Things are simmering now. I can make rice in 14 minutes (not Minute Rice) and I can make dressing in less than an hour.

I try to take a deep breath and remind myself that this makes her feel useful. Her husband will love it. (Excellent! EXCELLENT!)

Go ahead. Call me testy. I will not be eating it. If you need to start a simple dinner in the early afternoon, you have not embraced technology. I'll introduce you to a grill, a microwave, a steamer, etc. (Holidays and special occasions are an exception.) If a simple meal of meat, vegetable and a side requires four to five hours of cooking, you need a job or a hobby.

Thursday, July 12, 2007

He Has To Eat

The mother-in-law has been successfully treated for bladder cancer. Quarterly visits with her Urologist are mandatory.

This morning was a little crazy. I reminded her of the appointment. She was frying up breakfast and I lost it a bit ... "You don't have time to do this."

With a steel spine and a strong voice, she informed me, "He has to eat."

This is southern and/or farm hand mentality. Of course he has to eat. But, he could eat a bowl of cereal and a banana. Have some fruit.

He doesn't care what is put in front of him. He has been well trained and with every meal, he tells her it was "excellent." He says this no less than 10 times. If she ignores him and rolls her eyes (from living with me too long,) he says it more often and louder. "THANK YOU LOVE, THAT WAS EXCELLENT!" It could be a piece of toast on a paper plate and it would be the most excellent meal he's ever had, as long as dessert and coffee were on the docket.

Yesterday, I caught her loading up the garage refrigerator with butter. I'm not kidding -- at least 5 cartons with 4 sticks each. We are in butter abundance.

At their age, I cannot change their eating habits. Truly, it's none of my business.

She never sits down for breakfast. She eats over the sink and looks out the window. She makes sure he is taken care of and rolls her eyes. I know she loves him with every fiber of her being.

I am crossing my fingers, saying a prayer and knocking on wood. I don't care what he had for breakfast -- I just want a good report from the Urologist.

Wednesday, May 9, 2007

Foot in Mouth Disease

I have a big mouth. Somehow, my brain is short-circuited and things come out of me that haven't yet been edited by my brain cells. I am opinionated.

The oldies are southern and genteel. Not me! I am kind and generous but I could probably out-curse a sailor when I'm angry. (I never do this to the oldies, only the husband.)

Lately, I've been suggesting things the father-in-law might do. This is a man who was shot down as a pilot in WWII. He went on to become a successful engineer. I've suggested volunteering for businesses that might use his expertise. I've suggested writing (or creating audio tapes) for each of the grandchildren to get a feel for his life. Now, I've been shot down.

Apparently, I'm annoying. He doesn't want to do any more than wait for his wife to fry something up. Eat it. Fall asleep in a chair or their bedroom. Repeat. Repeat. I've been asked to stop proposing these ideas. I offered to get books on tape. No, thank you.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if they had something to look forward to beyond going to the doctor or going to the warehouse store? As the mother-in-law explained to me, her job is to take care of him. She would love to play cards, visit people, etc. but she can't because she's tethered to him. She thinks our lifestyle of doing things together and separately is wrong.

She loves to tell the story of packing up four young boys, a picnic basket, candles, etc. and showing up at her husband's office. To quote, "That's the only way the boys could have dinner with their daddy." In my mind, that's sort of sick and manipulative. My husband would kick me out of there so fast that I would be air born. If he's working, let him work. Isn't that why he's still there?

Tuesday, May 1, 2007

A New Twist on Carry-Out Food

Why do people buy carry-out food? Personally, I do it to avoid cooking.

The mother-in-law bought a rotisserie chicken, plucked all the meat off of it and fried it in butter. Then she dumped a bunch of gravy on it. I didn't stick around to see how it was served.

The irony of this is I met some friends for dinner and ordered something fried.