Misadventures, or, Cooking for Mom

Why, when you have an eager guest at the table, do things not turn out as you’d hoped? My mom just left today after a weekend visit, and I was so excited for the opportunity to make some of my new favorites for her. Yet, somehow, nothing I made was as I’d hoped, and I ended the weekend elated by my Mom time, but bummed about my culinary (mis)adventures.

First, let me say that my mom is an eager, supportive audience. At no level did I fear criticism or even pickiness. In fact, Mom lived with us last year for six months while she recuperated from a nasty compound ankle fracture. Not once during those six months did I feel paralyzed by her presence at my table. In fact, I found the challenge of cooking for someone on the path to recovery energizing, and successfully experimented much more than I normally would. I think it’s safe to say that my Mom was always appreciative, and left feeling well-nourished and healed.

So, what went wrong? Technically, nothing. However, everything I prepared was the weakest version I’d ever made, and these were all my new favorites: cheese-gilded linguine with smoky tomatoes, homemade pizza, even rustic jam shortbread tart. I need to state, emphatically, that at no point did my mom express anything but pleasure—lots of yums and “love it!” However, I felt that everything fell flat... the pasta was just a bit too salty, the pizza was too saucy and, subsequently, not crispy enough in the center, the tart crust didn’t quite hold together, and I found myself wishing I’d used a different flavor of jam. 

Jam flavors? Why was I worrying about jam flavors? Aside from our six months of cohabitation, which went swimmingly and forever cemented the real love between my husband, Ben, and my Mom, as well as my daughter’s unswerving devotion to her Grandma, I generally see my mom four times a year. Three months is about as long as I can go between visits. Why worry about the food when there was all that good gabbing to do?

I’ve thought about it a lot over the weekend, and what I’ve come to is that this project of recording my experiences in the kitchen has changed my sense of self, at least in part. I see myself differently because of this self-selected focus on cooking, and I wanted things to be just perfect for Mom, probably because she’s the one who taught me to love time spent in the kitchen, to read cookbooks like novels and to focus on fresh, seasonal food.

I don’t think I’ll ever completely understand why things consistently went awry. However, I do know that my culinary confidence is just a tiny bit shaken. This means, I believe, that it’s time to crack open new books, discover new chefs and rebuild my kitchen ego one new adventure at a time.  

Oh, and I’m having my friend Alison for dinner Sunday night. This gives me five days to plan a terrific dinner and another chance to entertain a dear guest. And eat chocolate. And drink wine. And plan the next great meal together.