Every day after school my mother would serve my sister and me tea and cinnamon toast. Sitting at the kitchen table is where our real conversations took place. I tried to emulate her when our boys came home from school, which I realize working moms can’t do.
A snack always awaited them. I even recall preparing mussels for our younger son, which I must admit I also enjoyed. One day, just for fun, I bought a Maine lobster. Sometimes I cruised by McDonald’s and purchased Happy Meals. Maybe not the healthiest food, but what they enjoyed.
Imagine my surprise when our sons informed me several years ago that they didn’t have a favorite dish that I prepared while they were young. They both looked at me with blank faces as if I hadn’t toiled hours cooking and serving what I thought they loved. They did not recall the many chicken dishes I prepared especially for them for dinner, not to mention spaghetti or leg of lamb.
My husband and I were dumbfounded when our older son told us he didn’t recall the blueberry pancakes, waffles, omelets, and other yummy breakfast items I readily offered in the morning. Our son claims he didn’t remember that I drove him and two friends to school in the morning every day through eighth grade. According to him, he was forced to walk. The word perception comes to mind, because he also told me I slept in. Huh? Would that I could.
My mother was an incredible cook. When I was a girl, she’d asked me what I wanted for my birthday dinner. I usually requested lasagna, and can still taste the succulent flavors and creamy texture. She excelled in whatever dish she prepared, including ragout (pretty much beef stew), For lunch, Campbell’s tomato soup and toasted cheese sandwiches or one of her fabulous soups made from scratch such as vichyssoise (French leek and potato soup served warm). Her meals were divine, so I grew up knowing what tasted good. And I prepared many a delicious meal. Or so I thought. Our older son brought a friend whose mother was a nurse home after school almost every day. Maybe I should ask him. What do you think? As our children grow up, do they forget? Older people often complain about their memories, but my husband assures me that I offered a plentiful breakfast in the morning.
What was your favorite meal when you were a child? Did family-time make meals special or was it the food? Do you still cook your favorite dish? If you could choose one meal from your childhood, what would it be?
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