LJ Idol Week 16, Prompt: Soup's On
Aug. 24th, 2022 09:35 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mollywheezyA/N: As usual, all names have been changed.
My family loves to eat and we show love with food. Some of my earliest memories are of “helping” my grandma in the kitchen when I was three years old. (My mom didn’t have the patience to let me help her in the kitchen when I was that young.) I loved spending time with my grandma. She would let me stir things and fetch things for her or pour ingredients into the bowl once she measured them. As I grew, she showed me how to do more and more things. I made banana bread by myself when I was eight. By age ten, I was making dinner. My favorite thing to make was homemade spaghetti sauce, and I of course made pasta and a salad to go with it. My grandma taught me how to make lasagna, and once she did, my mom would no longer make it because she said mine was better than hers. My grandma somehow always knew when I had a bad day at school, and I would come home to homemade lasagna. They lived next door to us, so we almost always ate together, and alternated houses.
My mom had a talent for making special food for holidays. I usually requested homemade vanilla muffins and homemade pork sausage for breakfast on my birthday. For several days after my birthday, we would eat birthday cake for breakfast. I spent a lot of time with my great-aunt May when I was growing up, and she made fabulous biscuits and gravy. I wanted her to teach my mom how, so I could have them more often, since Aunt May lived three hours away. Aunt May showed my mom, and then my mom tried making them on her own. Her first attempt, in her words, tasted like wallpaper paste, but I appreciated the effort and she kept trying and learned how to make good biscuits and gravy.
My family did not only cook at home but also ate out fairly regularly. Eating out was a hobby for my family. (The pandemic was particularly hard on my parents when “eating out” meant going to Molly’s house.) In my pre-teen, early teen years, I fell in love with taco salad, and would order one whenever we went out. My parents and grandparents were not fond of Mexican food (or Tex Mex or Americanized Mexican, whatever you want to call it) so we never had it at home. One day my mom polled her friends for recipes and made taco salad for dinner! I was delighted! And it was delicious! We finished eating and my mom got up to put her plate in the sink. My dad said, “That was good, honey, now what’s for dinner?” I laughed and said, “Very funny, Dad.” But at my dad’s confused look, my mom and I realized he was not joking. My mom said, “That was dinner.” My dad responded, “That was a salad.” My mom said, “There was meat in it. That was dinner.” As I giggled, my dad got up to make himself a steak and a baked potato. We didn’t have taco salad at home again.
My grandpa always made the stuffing when we had turkey for holidays. Easter, Thanksgiving, Christmas, the stuffing was his job. I don’t know if he invented the recipe or if it was passed down in his family, but I’ve never seen a stuffing recipe quite like his, or at least what I consider his. There was no written recipe. He made it from memory. One Thanksgiving, my mom decided he needed to teach her the recipe. My grandpa would eye-ball the amounts, add them to a bowl, and my mom scooped up what was in the bowl, measured it, and then added it to the stuffing. They continued this process until my mom had the recipe written down. On Christmas my mom made the stuffing from the written recipe and my grandpa helped her tweak it to get it just right. I am very thankful for my mom’s foresight in getting the recipe written down, because that was the last Thanksgiving and Christmas we had with my grandpa.
My dad always cooked breakfast for us throughout my childhood and teen years, even on weekdays. He would get up early enough to make biscuits and sausage for breakfast sandwiches or Top Browns–toast with bacon and cheese and sliced farmers market tomato if we had one that was put under the broiler. Evenings were often crazy with my dance classes or play practices, so my parents and I always ate breakfast together. My dad also was the King of the Grill and his barbecued chicken and packet potatoes made frequent appearances in good weather, except for one time. The last night of Christmas Break during my freshman year of college, I had asked for barbecued chicken for dinner, assuming my dad would make it in the oven, which we had done before. My mom and I were on the other side of the house as she helped me to pack, and when we emerged, we were surprised not to smell the delicious aroma of chicken emanating from the kitchen. My mom called out for my dad and didn’t receive an answer. A minute later, he came in from outside, carrying a covered platter of chicken and stamping snow off of his boots. He had barbecued outside when there were six inches of snow on the ground and it was actively snowing.
My boyfriend (now husband) Arthur invited me over to his house for dinner for our third date. He said his mom had made certain all of her children could cook and be able to feed themselves. He made Idiot’s Chicken–so easy even an idiot can make it! That was the night of our first kiss. The chicken was good, but Arthur’s cooking skills have improved dramatically over the years. He won the church bake-off three years in a row with his chocolate filled cream puffs. My grandma made wonderful cream puffs, too, and Arthur’s are just like hers. I never quite managed cream puffs . . . Last Christmas, Arthur made cream puffs for my mom but with ice cream and hot fudge like my grandma did rather than his usual filling, and my mom said it was like getting an extra present! We haven’t had our monthly potluck at church since pre-pandemic but I know when we are able to again, the children will be clamoring for Mr. Arthur’s homemade macaroni and cheese, the ultimate comfort food in my opinion. And he’ll need to make his famous red beans and rice with andouille sausage for the next Mardi Gras party. He may need to make it for me sooner than that, because since I’m talking about it, I’m now craving it.
Arthur’s birthday is this week, so I plan to surprise him with shrimp etouffee which I haven’t made in probably a decade. I made homemade fig jam yesterday that I will use for cookies, and plan to make a banana cream pie later in the week for the party at our dance studio. Our friend Mary Ann is having knee surgery, so now I’m off to go make her a lasagna.
My family loves to eat and we show love with food. Some of my earliest memories are of “helping” my grandma in the kitchen when I was three years old. (My mom didn’t have the patience to let me help her in the kitchen when I was that young.) I loved spending time with my grandma. She would let me stir things and fetch things for her or pour ingredients into the bowl once she measured them. As I grew, she showed me how to do more and more things. I made banana bread by myself when I was eight. By age ten, I was making dinner. My favorite thing to make was homemade spaghetti sauce, and I of course made pasta and a salad to go with it. My grandma taught me how to make lasagna, and once she did, my mom would no longer make it because she said mine was better than hers. My grandma somehow always knew when I had a bad day at school, and I would come home to homemade lasagna. They lived next door to us, so we almost always ate together, and alternated houses.
My mom had a talent for making special food for holidays. I usually requested homemade vanilla muffins and homemade pork sausage for breakfast on my birthday. For several days after my birthday, we would eat birthday cake for breakfast. I spent a lot of time with my great-aunt May when I was growing up, and she made fabulous biscuits and gravy. I wanted her to teach my mom how, so I could have them more often, since Aunt May lived three hours away. Aunt May showed my mom, and then my mom tried making them on her own. Her first attempt, in her words, tasted like wallpaper paste, but I appreciated the effort and she kept trying and learned how to make good biscuits and gravy.
My family did not only cook at home but also ate out fairly regularly. Eating out was a hobby for my family. (The pandemic was particularly hard on my parents when “eating out” meant going to Molly’s house.) In my pre-teen, early teen years, I fell in love with taco salad, and would order one whenever we went out. My parents and grandparents were not fond of Mexican food (or Tex Mex or Americanized Mexican, whatever you want to call it) so we never had it at home. One day my mom polled her friends for recipes and made taco salad for dinner! I was delighted! And it was delicious! We finished eating and my mom got up to put her plate in the sink. My dad said, “That was good, honey, now what’s for dinner?” I laughed and said, “Very funny, Dad.” But at my dad’s confused look, my mom and I realized he was not joking. My mom said, “That was dinner.” My dad responded, “That was a salad.” My mom said, “There was meat in it. That was dinner.” As I giggled, my dad got up to make himself a steak and a baked potato. We didn’t have taco salad at home again.
My grandpa always made the stuffing when we had turkey for holidays. Easter, Thanksgiving, Christmas, the stuffing was his job. I don’t know if he invented the recipe or if it was passed down in his family, but I’ve never seen a stuffing recipe quite like his, or at least what I consider his. There was no written recipe. He made it from memory. One Thanksgiving, my mom decided he needed to teach her the recipe. My grandpa would eye-ball the amounts, add them to a bowl, and my mom scooped up what was in the bowl, measured it, and then added it to the stuffing. They continued this process until my mom had the recipe written down. On Christmas my mom made the stuffing from the written recipe and my grandpa helped her tweak it to get it just right. I am very thankful for my mom’s foresight in getting the recipe written down, because that was the last Thanksgiving and Christmas we had with my grandpa.
My dad always cooked breakfast for us throughout my childhood and teen years, even on weekdays. He would get up early enough to make biscuits and sausage for breakfast sandwiches or Top Browns–toast with bacon and cheese and sliced farmers market tomato if we had one that was put under the broiler. Evenings were often crazy with my dance classes or play practices, so my parents and I always ate breakfast together. My dad also was the King of the Grill and his barbecued chicken and packet potatoes made frequent appearances in good weather, except for one time. The last night of Christmas Break during my freshman year of college, I had asked for barbecued chicken for dinner, assuming my dad would make it in the oven, which we had done before. My mom and I were on the other side of the house as she helped me to pack, and when we emerged, we were surprised not to smell the delicious aroma of chicken emanating from the kitchen. My mom called out for my dad and didn’t receive an answer. A minute later, he came in from outside, carrying a covered platter of chicken and stamping snow off of his boots. He had barbecued outside when there were six inches of snow on the ground and it was actively snowing.
My boyfriend (now husband) Arthur invited me over to his house for dinner for our third date. He said his mom had made certain all of her children could cook and be able to feed themselves. He made Idiot’s Chicken–so easy even an idiot can make it! That was the night of our first kiss. The chicken was good, but Arthur’s cooking skills have improved dramatically over the years. He won the church bake-off three years in a row with his chocolate filled cream puffs. My grandma made wonderful cream puffs, too, and Arthur’s are just like hers. I never quite managed cream puffs . . . Last Christmas, Arthur made cream puffs for my mom but with ice cream and hot fudge like my grandma did rather than his usual filling, and my mom said it was like getting an extra present! We haven’t had our monthly potluck at church since pre-pandemic but I know when we are able to again, the children will be clamoring for Mr. Arthur’s homemade macaroni and cheese, the ultimate comfort food in my opinion. And he’ll need to make his famous red beans and rice with andouille sausage for the next Mardi Gras party. He may need to make it for me sooner than that, because since I’m talking about it, I’m now craving it.
Arthur’s birthday is this week, so I plan to surprise him with shrimp etouffee which I haven’t made in probably a decade. I made homemade fig jam yesterday that I will use for cookies, and plan to make a banana cream pie later in the week for the party at our dance studio. Our friend Mary Ann is having knee surgery, so now I’m off to go make her a lasagna.
no subject
Date: 2022-08-24 10:00 pm (UTC)Your entry made me hungry, seriously! Somehow you mentioned most of my favorite dishes, even cream puffs which was unexpected (good ones are kind of hard to find in stores sometimes.)
One food I really loved that my mom made in Africa was chocolate banana cream pie. She never made it again once we returned to the states for some reason, but man, it was good :)
I had to laugh at your taco salad story. It was one of the main "meals when we had company" as a child because it's easy to make a lot of. I liked making it, but once my daughters became vegan and vegetarian, it's not something we eat at home often. Have you tried Little Rosie's taco salad?
My favorite part of your entry was the sweet story about your dad and the chicken. He loved you so much :)
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Date: 2022-08-27 10:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-08-24 11:41 pm (UTC)Kinda sad your dad didn't consider the taco salad an actual dinner. That's something I've enjoyed ordering when I go to Mexican restaurants too. It was nice that your mom put in the effort to make it for you though.
I like to make Alfredo pasta sauce from scratch. I used a recipe one time, then ever since I've essentially just used my memory and approximations of the ingredients to make it, which I modify with different ingredients sometimes depending on what food I have in the house.
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Date: 2022-08-27 10:16 pm (UTC)My husband makes the homemade alfredo sauce around here. Yummy! :)
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Date: 2022-08-25 01:52 pm (UTC)- Erulisse (one L)
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