As I struggled to pull together my June Charcutepalooza post this week, trying to force some personality to show through the words, I knew what fed my blogger’s block. My mother, my original kitchen mentor, died last week. It happened quickly, as she sat down to a dinner she had prepared
for my dad and his friend. She was in her 87th year, and remained active to the end, playing, and winning, duplicate bridge the day before. These are all things to be grateful for, but, as the nurse in intensive care said, this is MOM, and now she’s gone.

I originally set up this blog page after reading Julie Powell’s book on blogging and cooking her way through Mastering the Art of French Cooking. My title came from a conversation in my kitchen several years earlier with an in-law-by-marriage, my sister-in-law’s sister-in-law. As we prepped for a pre-wedding dinner for our mutual nephew and his Israeli bride, we talked about our families, those who were still here and those who had passed. I explained why I loved cooking. It has always been a cultural connection for me, to my family, to my memories. She talked about the end of her first marriage, and the laughter she found in her next (second, last) marriage. Although Esther and I had know each other for 30+ years, this day will be one of my favorite times spent with her. As we prepared that kosher meal in my nonkosher kitchen, we made new memories for me to ponder, some other time, in the kitchen.  It was this experience that influenced the title- cooking is often a sharing of experiences that make wonderful memories for me.

And, now I know I will think about my mother often; when I make potato salad, fried chicken, artichokes, or any Hawaiian food; when, as always, we have rolled tacos for Christmas Eve. And, this brings to mind, we need to think about the fact that someone will have to take over the Menudo responsibility!

I’ll remember canning sauerkraut with her when I was four, and the fact that she let me cook, all by myself, when I was nine. My mother was a working mom, and I was a latchkey kid. Projects like the sauerkraut were unusual, because she worked a lot. But, I was allowed to cook after school and during the summer even though no one was at home with me. Can you imagine that happening today? I worked my way through a Betty Crocker for Kids cookbook, and then, in my teens, began experimenting with my own creations- most of which were made from the same base of ground beef and tomatoes (sauce, paste, whole canned) since that was what was available in the pantry. By the time I was fourteen my spaghetti sauce was pretty darned good! And, while I took a bunch of teasing because of the mess I made in the kitchen, no one ever got mad at me for the mess. This is, however, when I first heard her say that her mother had taught her to “clean as you go” when cooking. I still don’t do a very good job at this- I remember the lesson though I didn’t necessarily learn the lesson.

My son Josh remembers her teaching him to make enchiladas when he was 10, and I remember her making escargot for him when he slept over one night, when he was about nine, because he had expressed an interest in it. Ben has the memory of meeting up with them for a couple of summers while they traveled the country in their motor home, eating lobster in New England and campsite barbeques in the Mid-West.

For years, she brought deviled eggs to family events because my son Zach loved them. They made a reappearance a few years ago when Zach’s daughter Lexi, now five, obviously liked them as much as Zachie had. Last week, all the great-grandkids made deviled eggs to serve after the funeral, and Lexi has already said she will make them for our Father’s Day gathering this weekend. This will become one of their kitchen memories, one of their kitchen thoughts, as they learn to cook themselves.

So, if my June Charcutepalooza blog seemed a bit lack-luster, a bit dull, it’s because it felt like I should mention the woman who started me off in the kitchen,  but I couldn’t figure a way to work it in properly.  Should I have mentioned that the reason my cousin, Becky, was here to help me guide the sausage as it was stuffed into the hog casing was becuase she was here for the funeral?  Should I have mentioned that the pasta we made was our last meal before the last of the family returned to Montana and Northern California after a long week of planning and executing a truly lovely memorial service?  Nothing seemed to work, so I decided she deserved a post of her own.   To Mom, who taaught me to love life, family and food.  Thanks!