I pondered this thought closely.
Then, I considered that you almost never hear the word macaroni without cheese close behind unless your singing Yankee Doddle Dandy to a class of first-graders.
I thought about the texture of the dish... cooked macaroni noodles skillet-toasted with bread crumbs and topped with a fried egg. Each mouthful was a bit gooey and gritty and soft all at the same time. I think it was that gritty feeling that made me dislike the dish so much as a kid.
It was a meal born out of financial hardship--perhaps as far back as the Great Depression when my grandfather was a child. A plate of noodles and a dose of cheap protein go a long way in feeding a family of four. Eventually it became comfort food--a dish that my mom made periodically for her children not out of necessity but out of fondness.
Out of all the foods I could have made today to remember mom, I'm not sure why I chose one I didn't really like. I could have made her fried chicken, but that might have been messy. I remember the one and only time I made it. I was in my early twenties and living in California. I must have called her at least three times. She talked me through taking apart a whole chicken--just grab the leg and twist until you hear it pop. I thought I was going to lose my lunch in the pursuit of making dinner.
My father has given me cooking advice plenty of times over the years. It's always the same and he would dole it out just before handing the phone to mom--800 degrees for 10 minutes.
I cant lie; this past week has been a tough one--every store window has a display like 'don't forget mom!' or 'perfect for mother's day!' I was not exactly number-one daughter when it came to Mother's Day. About half the time, my gifts arrived late. Not that mom ever complained--and her favorite gifts were never the ones I expected. A few years back, she raved about a cute glasses case with a little handle that made it look like a mini handbag that I bought at Daffy's for less than $10. It was always in her car when I visited.
Perhaps I picked the macaroni dish because I knew I wouldn't need advice to make it, and it would be easy to make a variation. I was determined to a) not sit in the kitchen and cry and b) find a way to 'season' up this dish--in more ways than one.
And, I decided, it would also be nice to spend an entire day in the kitchen rather than be out in the world feeling blue on a day when many would be celebrating. So, I committed also to pickling ramps and fiddlehead ferns (for a cocktail recipe) and making something (anything!) with rhubarb--all three of which are in prime season. I spent about seven hours in the kitchen today, cleaning and pickling, stewing and bubbling.
To make the macaroni dish healthier, I used brown-rice macaroni rather than the traditional flour variety. To liven it up, I added ramp pesto, which I made using a variation of a recipe on Food52. I used less oil and more lemon than the original. (Yes, I finally got my hands on those ramps, and that flirtatious tramp Spring seems to have shown us her sunnier side as well.)
It was truly delicious. If mom were here, I imagined I would have made her the traditional version (knowing the ramp pesto would be too spicy). And we would have each enjoyed our dinners--she with a glass of milk and I with a summer ale. And, I would remember to thank her for cooking for me six out of seven days a week for so many years. (Saturday was evening service at church and takeout.) Without her love and graciousness I wouldn't even be able to boil water today, let along whip up ramp pesto and pickles.
Stay tuned, my friends. Wild and dirty martinis coming your way next week. And perhaps you will hear about my adventures with rhubarb and the mystery of the missing baking soda.
In the meantime, enjoy a fiddlehead on me...
Then, I considered that you almost never hear the word macaroni without cheese close behind unless your singing Yankee Doddle Dandy to a class of first-graders.
I thought about the texture of the dish... cooked macaroni noodles skillet-toasted with bread crumbs and topped with a fried egg. Each mouthful was a bit gooey and gritty and soft all at the same time. I think it was that gritty feeling that made me dislike the dish so much as a kid.
It was a meal born out of financial hardship--perhaps as far back as the Great Depression when my grandfather was a child. A plate of noodles and a dose of cheap protein go a long way in feeding a family of four. Eventually it became comfort food--a dish that my mom made periodically for her children not out of necessity but out of fondness.
Out of all the foods I could have made today to remember mom, I'm not sure why I chose one I didn't really like. I could have made her fried chicken, but that might have been messy. I remember the one and only time I made it. I was in my early twenties and living in California. I must have called her at least three times. She talked me through taking apart a whole chicken--just grab the leg and twist until you hear it pop. I thought I was going to lose my lunch in the pursuit of making dinner.
My father has given me cooking advice plenty of times over the years. It's always the same and he would dole it out just before handing the phone to mom--800 degrees for 10 minutes.
I cant lie; this past week has been a tough one--every store window has a display like 'don't forget mom!' or 'perfect for mother's day!' I was not exactly number-one daughter when it came to Mother's Day. About half the time, my gifts arrived late. Not that mom ever complained--and her favorite gifts were never the ones I expected. A few years back, she raved about a cute glasses case with a little handle that made it look like a mini handbag that I bought at Daffy's for less than $10. It was always in her car when I visited.
Perhaps I picked the macaroni dish because I knew I wouldn't need advice to make it, and it would be easy to make a variation. I was determined to a) not sit in the kitchen and cry and b) find a way to 'season' up this dish--in more ways than one.
And, I decided, it would also be nice to spend an entire day in the kitchen rather than be out in the world feeling blue on a day when many would be celebrating. So, I committed also to pickling ramps and fiddlehead ferns (for a cocktail recipe) and making something (anything!) with rhubarb--all three of which are in prime season. I spent about seven hours in the kitchen today, cleaning and pickling, stewing and bubbling.
To make the macaroni dish healthier, I used brown-rice macaroni rather than the traditional flour variety. To liven it up, I added ramp pesto, which I made using a variation of a recipe on Food52. I used less oil and more lemon than the original. (Yes, I finally got my hands on those ramps, and that flirtatious tramp Spring seems to have shown us her sunnier side as well.)
It was truly delicious. If mom were here, I imagined I would have made her the traditional version (knowing the ramp pesto would be too spicy). And we would have each enjoyed our dinners--she with a glass of milk and I with a summer ale. And, I would remember to thank her for cooking for me six out of seven days a week for so many years. (Saturday was evening service at church and takeout.) Without her love and graciousness I wouldn't even be able to boil water today, let along whip up ramp pesto and pickles.
Stay tuned, my friends. Wild and dirty martinis coming your way next week. And perhaps you will hear about my adventures with rhubarb and the mystery of the missing baking soda.
In the meantime, enjoy a fiddlehead on me...
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