A few times, for Thanksgiving, me and my grandma would drive to Stanton, TX and spend the holiday with her side of the family. I loved going. It didn’t matter that she would wave at everyone on the highway like she knew them, when she didn’t or when there was silence for a few minutes, she would all of the sudden scream and scare me to death. I knew she was going to do it but never knew when. What I loved, when we arrived, was the making of the food. I was young and still had the chance to lend a helping hand. She always made the deviled eggs. Nobody could make them like her. They let me cut celery sticks and make the spread for them. My memory is horrible but when I think back to those times, I remember seeing everyone in the kitchen making food and laughing.
My mom worked hard during her single mom life so occasionally when she would work late, she would call me and ask me to get part of the supper ready. I’ll NEVER forget the day she called and told me to make salmon patties. I LOVE salmon patties but never knew how they were made or what they looked like before they were formed and cooked. You can imagine the look on my face when I saw slimy fish skin and little bones that looked like a spine in the can. It took me a while but I did it. I made those patties and ate them because they were good. Every time I make salmon patties now, I remember that day.
Married at sixteen, I didn’t have much cooking experience so when my husband had asked for fried taters, I thought, that can’t be too hard. Man was I having a hard time. They were sticking and I was getting frustrated. I finally hollered at him and asked what I was doing wrong and he replied, “Did you add oil?”….I said, “Oil?” He said, “yes Lori, you need some oil”. I’m sure he was having second thoughts at that point about marriage. (hehehe)
Had a big family get-together at my MIL’s house one time. Well, actually it was always a big get-together because they have like a million family members. Anyways, I remember walking through the door and seeing a cooked cow head on the stove and my SIL’s fighting over the brains, eyes, and tongue. Wow, now that’s a sight I tell ya.
Finally, my latest memorable moment is with my youngest child who’s two. On his tummy on the counter next to me helping me make tortillas. He tried rolling them out but that was too hard so instead, he would grab the round hunks of dough, dip them in flour, and hand them to me. He waits patiently while I roll out a tortilla before handing me the next one. What is special about that, is that all three of my boys have helped me make tortillas so it took me back to those times too.
I’ve been very emotional here lately and to be honest, I feel like a big ol’ sap and I don’t know if it’s ’cause I’m missing some loved ones, or if it’s cause my son is turning sixteen, or maybe I’m just getting old and sensitive but since this is a food blog and these are food related stories, I thought I’d share them with you. I’d really, really love to hear your stories if you are so inclined to share them with me and everyone else who reads this blog.
Lori
Hi, Lori! I love your stories, both the older ones and the most recent. This is what family memories should be like. There isn’t a time that I peel an apple that I don’t relive an early childhood memory. I am taken right back to my great-grandma’s kitchen. She had a wooden table in the middle of it, just like the islands of today. I can remember her standing at the table, peeling each apple in one continuous long strip and the smell of freshly sliced apples filled the kitchen. She passed when I was just 5 so I must have been a toddler, but I love that memory!
I started cooking for my family when in my teens. I remember dropping a jar of spaghetti sauce between the fridge and the cabinet. The jar splattered and the sauce shot up between and up the wall and across the ceiling.
I will never forget the first time I went to my husband’s father’s house. I went into the kitchen and found a pot of fish heads and other nasty things on the stove and my step-mother-in-law saying how good it was going to be. I almost threw up.
I love your stories. Reminds me of when I was about 5 or 6 and my Nana let me help her make her famous pickles. I sat on the counter and watched for the most part, but also go to help stir them up. I lost my Nana when I was 8 so I really cherish all the food memories I have of her.
When I was about 14, I was watching a cooking show with my mom. The chef was making a rolled meatloaf and I said “I can do that!” So off to the store we went to get the ingredients and I, with a bit of coaching from my mom, made dinner for our family. Almost 20 years later, my mom still tells the story of how I just made that meatloaf. It’s now my “specialty!”
Enjoyed your stories. This is one of the reasons I love food so much–it contains so many memories! Smell is such a strong scent that just a whiff of something takes me back. I will never ever smell fried chicken without thinking of Saturday mornings at my grandma’s house when she’d fry chicken for us to take to the football games.
my first xmas ham I left the string on it and glazed it while cooking – guess what happened – the strings were all sticky and baked into the ham. I decided it would be easier to slice and then everyone had to pick off all these little pieces of string. The ham tasted good at least – but it was funny.