Yummmmmmmm Remember

There are certain foods that when I taste them bring up an overwhelming sense of nostalgia.

No Bake Cookies… No Bake Cookies were a rainy day treat. Days when you were stuck inside and your mom thought the best way to keep the youngsters busy was by spending time in the kitchen. Up on the chair we would go. Mom at the stove cooking the gooey chocolate base while teaching us lessons in fractions and measuring. Licking the peanut butter off the spoon. Watching as she cooked the gooey mixture on the stove then dropped those chewy, chocolaty, oatmeal morsels onto the counter. All the while four sets of eyes locked were on, waiting for the delicious cookie to cool and harden. A cold glass of milk and a couple cookies could make any day special

Every time I make the cookies the memories flood back.

You all know it, the smells and tastes that can set the memory part of your brain spinning out of control. My mother-in-law use to make this recipe with round steak smothered in green peppers, tomatoes and brown gravy. Every time I make it the house overflows with this amazing smell. At least one of the members of the family remark on Gram’s steak recipe as the aroma permeates the air.

But it’s not just the smells and tastes. When Kirk’s mother passed away no one wanted her iron skillets. I grabbed them up and every time I cook in them (so far) the meal has turned out wonderful. My Sheppard’s Pie tastes better, the pepper and steak smells better, and the feeling I get when I use the pan is like a soft cloud that settles down over my shoulder. It’s a fog like effect that allows me glimpses back through the years. Glimpses of moments when I remember seeing the pan in the oven with sweet potatoes for a Thanksgiving dinner or with the bottom covered with bacon grease waiting the frying of eggs for breakfast. It’s the wonderful memories and many incredible meals that are part of the simple piece of iron.

Memories in smells and tastes. Not pictures to look at, but moments treasured throughout a lifetime.

You Are Such A Good Friend

Last week my husband and I went to a friend’s house for dinner. I offered to get there early and help out. As I’ve already mentioned I love to arrive early. So she put me in charge of making the salad. I LOVE MAKING salad. I love taking those healthy ingredients, cutting them up and mixing them all together to make a divine, delicious, cacophony of tastes and textures. I put the lettuce in the bottom, not a lot because everyone knows the best things about the salad are the extra ingredients not the lettuce itself. I layered the red, green and yellow peppers, the orange carrots, the crimson radish and cherry tomatoes. I added chopped boiled egg, olives, celery and fresh mushrooms. The knife was chopping away as the salad grew. I tossed it all together layering a small spattering of bacon bits (fresh not the faux stuff you buy prepackaged) and topped the bowl off with grated cheese and garlic( again homemade) croutons.

You may ask what about this story proves this person is a true friend. Well as I was getting ready to put away the leftover veggies I asked where she kept her foil and baggies and such. At my house it’s in a drawer that shares space with doggy treats and batteries and sometimes is so full it catches when you open it so you have to stick your hand through the small opening and push the contents down. I don’t often let anyone in the drawer besides family.

“Middle drawer in the island.” She answered; pointing in the direction where said drawer was located.

I pulled open the drawer and there was the most beautifully organized spectacle I had ever seen. Each package was face up so you could read the contents. They were laid out in order of size. Freezer bag to sandwich bag. Next came the foil, plastic wrap and parchment paper. And the coup de résistance was the drawer was so clean. No bread crumbs lurking in the corners, no toothpicks stuck into the crevices along the sides, no small bags of ketchup or soy sauce from the latest take out.

I glanced over at my friend. This unknown neat freak. How could I have not been aware?

“This is amazing.”

“It’s not that special.”

“Are you kidding me? I should take a picture and send it to Better Homes and Gardens.”

And then she said the thing that made me realize how good a friend she really is, “I cleaned it out yesterday ‘cause I knew you were all coming over tonight.”

You see a real friend is honest even if it might destroy the myth. Anyone else would have pretended the drawer was always in such dazzlingly beautiful order. They would have left you thinking that your somehow substandard drawer would never measure up to their immaculately organized one.

“In fact I had to move the doggy treats out just to make room for the foil that was in the pantry and the parchment paper that was on top of the fridge.”

I almost hugged her. But the next day I organized my drawer. As they say, it’s the little things.

Gas Gage I or Fill 'er up!

Another habit I’ve picked up in this phase of my life is to fill the gas tank when it reaches ½ full. Or ½ empty as you may choose. It started when the prices were fluctuating between 3 and 4 dollars a gallon. I thought I could outsmart the oil companies and get more bang for my buck. Sometimes I won. Sometimes they got the best of me. But the other reason is that I forget to look at the gas gage and suddenly the damn thing starts beeping. This usually occurs when I am coming across the state from Ft. Myers to West Palm and am forty miles to the nearest town. All too often I have made deals with my God to just get me to the gas station and I will be better at paying attention to those little things.

I play that game where I shut off the stereo and air-conditioning hoping it will make the gas last a little longer. Only once did I run out of gas and have to walk. I was lucky that time. I was two blocks from the gas station. The guy made me give him twenty dollars to rent the gas can. I pointed to my car, just feet from the entrance, but I must have looked shady in my Capri’s and golf shirt. Maybe it was the two pair of glasses on my head. But then and there I decided to always keep my tank above the ½ mark. It just makes things easier.

Did you ever notice that you buy the exact same things every time you go to the grocery? I get my husband’s weekly contraband, but I was starting to get into a rut with the nightly meals as well. My Mother-in-law had a system where she had the same meal every week. Monday pork chops, Tuesday spaghetti, Wednesday chicken, Thursday steak, Friday pizza, Saturday dinner out and Sunday standing rib roast with rice and corn. It was the same every night of the week. I have a different approach. Whatever I was hungry for that day is what I would make. Mexican, Italian, Grandma’s southern cooking...whatever spirit moved me. It helped that I loved to cook, but I also found that I made the same recipes over and over. As I got older I started to experiment. Maybe a little cinnamon in the recipe.

“Hon,” my husband would ask, “What’s that I’m tasting in the meatloaf tonight?”

“Do you like it?”

“Well,” he pauses thinking about the fine line between criticizing the cook and suggesting that the flavor just didn’t fit. “It’s different.”

Different for all of you who don’t know means bad. Not just bad but usually inedible. That recipe was gone. But there are others. Experimenting with flavors helps when you have been cooking for years and are bored to tears with the same old same old. I actually took a cooking class at the local culinary institute to learn to make Chinese meals. Imagine my surprise when after thirty years of marriage my husband told me he didn’t really care for Chinese cuisine. I guess I need to look into some other classes and Dim Sum.