Writing Wednesday - I Have Been Writing - Sort Of

I have been writing on the cookbook - sort of. Slowly, very, very slowly. 

So to motivate myself, I decided to share part of what has been written. This following is from the introduction.

First off let me be completely honest. I HATE doing dishes. And to those who love doing dishes and find it a meditative task, good for you. I don’t see it myself, honestly. In fact, when I do get around to doing the dishes, I find myself then compelled to cook something. There goes the semi-clean kitchen. 

Images of an uncluttered kitchen and sparkling counters are just that - images. Oh, it might exist for a couple of hours, then the need to cook something ruins the picture. And I don’t mean a simple recipe like making a sandwich. I’m talking about deciding it’s time to bake a cake from scratch or a can a batch of jam. Anything which requires tons of pots and pans.

I don’t really remember a time when I wasn't participating in cooking in some way. Either I was shelling peas, snapping beans or making an entire meal, all at a time which was pre-microwave and pre-drive-thru. Even a ‘vacation’ with Nana (my maternal grandmother) meant living in a camp car on a railroad siding somewhere in Mississippi or Louisiana, helping her cook three meals a day for 12 or more of Pa-Pa’s (maternal step-grandfather) crew. 

As I learned to cook, the rule in the household was ‘the person who cooked the meal didn’t have to clean up the dishes’. Of course, this didn’t apply when on the camp cars, but whether at home or with family, this was the rule.This ‘cooking clause’ applied mainly to dinner. 

There was a fairly expected dinner time of 5 p.m., when the table was set and everyone sat down to eat together. ‘Everyone’ meant Mom, Dad, Tim (my younger brother) and Kelly (my younger sister).

And the table was set. Not just grabbing a plate and fork. It was a plate with a knife, fork and spoon. On a placemat. Tea glass - iced tea was the norm with occasionally a glass of milk when younger. Salt, pepper and butter (or margarine). 

Mom sat nearest to the kitchen. Dad sat opposite her at the round kitchen table which was located in a corner. I was located on the outside, away from the walls. This way, either Mom or I could hop up and fetch items needed from the kitchen which was only a couple of sets away. 

There was also no serving yourself from the kitchen, buffet style. Food was placed into bowls or onto platters and placed on the table, passed around. You served yourself once you got older. And God forbid ‘your eyes were bigger than your stomach’! Cleaning your plate of what was placed on it was mandatory.

Dinner was a fairly quick affair. There might be a short conversation or two, but for the most part it was eat and get on with after dinner plans. Dad would head to the living room to watch the news or out to the garage to work on a project. The rest of us were set to scatter, mainly to our rooms. 

Actually everyone scattered except the person who didn’t cook, or was the boy in the family, or too young (my sister). Which left me to clean up after dinner. 

The kitchen was expected to be cleaned up immediately after dinner. There was no lag time allowed. In fact, more than once, Dad would sit in the living room and go ‘tick, tick, tick’ if he felt it was taking longer than it should take to clear the table and get the dishes done. Thank God for dishwashers! Needless to say, once I realized I could get out of doing the dishes, I tried to cook dinner every chance I got.

So sixty plus years down the road and I still feel the pressure to immediately pick up and clear the table after eating. My inner rebel does come forth and let the dishes sit in the sink at times.

But cooking is something I grew up thinking everyone did. If you wanted to eat, you cooked. Granted, being born in Tennessee and raised in Texas, there was a lot of Crisco involved and spices were generally limited to salt and pepper, with paprika for the deviled eggs. But we had a pretty good core of basic meals.

Summer meant fresh vegetables, generally from our own small garden or from a farmer’s market. Winter meant soups and beans with ham, both accompanied by cornbread. In fact, cornbread was almost a staple at every meal. 

Over the years, our menu expanded and meals became a bit more health-conscious, but the basics were still there - those tried and true comfort foods. 

Then as an adult and a single mom of two daughters working 40 hours a week, the meals became more fluid and less rigid in time and place. The girls had their special foods they liked and would request from time to time. But I like to think, and looking at my waistline, we never missed a meal.

Now my girls are adults themselves, with their own homes and their own families. There are times I get the text message, ‘Mom, how do you fix…?’ So I have to send them the recipes they have grown up with via email or text messaging.

These recipes not only hold the directions for preparing a dish they are fond of, but they also contain memories of meals past. So I finally decided to sit down and make up a cookbook for them as a Christmas present. In addition, I wanted to add the stories behind the recipes and what they mean to us as a family. Times have changed and family is spread out, but the food is still there. And while I am not a stranger to using the drive-thru, most of my meals are still home cooked. 

Unfortunately, I still have to do the dishes!