Greetings, Ripplemakers

Giving Thanks
by
Nanci L. Stroupe

                    
Many, many meals were eaten at the big old oak table in our small dining room in the home where I grew up.  Every Sunday, after my two sisters and I returned from church, there were pots boiling with delicious smells.  I can't say I had a favorite, for all Mama's meals were great. 

Her fried chicken was to die for.  She didn't just fry the chicken.  No, she soaked it in cold salt water first and then she dropped each piece in a bowl of butter milk.  And then she dredged it in flour with salt, pepper and secret spices of her very own. And then she fried it but not before getting the oil smokin' hot to brown it on each side and then she turned it down to finish cooking. We could hardly wait for it to be served and she served it with such grace on a large platter covered with towels to keep it hot as if the chicken had time to cook off before we each had our favorite piece. Of course, no one - and I mean no one - touched anything until the meal was blessed. 

Many Sundays, the Pastor followed us home to share our meal.  Believe me, we were on our best behavior when he and his family arrived.  Of course they had first choice of the best pieces of chicken and the Pastor would go on and on about Mama's cooking and we had to agree she was the best cook around. 

I know this is hard to believe but a lady down the street from us always had two young Mormons staying with her and she served them spaghetti out of a can.  No kidding, Chef Boyardee right out of a can. I suppose she heated it but yuk, can you imagine? 

My Mama cooked her sauce for hours and she always put a huge piece of fresh Parmengiani cheese into the boiling sauce before she boiled her pasta.  She would have died before she would ever have served spaghetti out of a can.  It is no wonder the young Mormons came to visit our home so much. Of course I am sure my older sisters may have encouraged them to come and they were flattered to be asked but even the beauty of my sisters could not compare with my Mama's cooking. And you never left our home hungry. 

Mama always had desert of some sort either on the stove, in the oven or in the ice box. And yes, it was an ice box. I can still remember the ice man coming and how we ran behind him and picked up chunks of ice.  He always stopped in front of our house and grabbed a big chunk of ice with his huge ice picks and carried it into the kitchen and put it in the ice box under the food that needed to be kept cold. We were always admonished to keep the ice box closed.  Mama's desserts were legendary also.  She made her deep dish apple pie in a large broiling pan.  She made a huge pastry for the bottom and another for the top. In the middle was lots and lots of apples, sugar and cinnamon. To top off her masterpiece she made a quick icing of powdered sugar, cream and vanilla and she glazed the top. Oh my, I can still taste it and it tasted so good when it was still warm from the oven.

Each meal my Mama made was a gift to her family and she offered it with so much love. When we all were seated and after the blessing was offered, the passing of the food began and the compliments never stopped. Whether it was one of our guests who insisted Mrs. LaBarbera was the finest cook ever or one of her own sons making noises of appreciation and comments like "mama-mia, ummmmm sooo good, Mama, how do you do it?"  Of course never expecting an answer and Mama quietly taking it all in as  was her right, her face a picture of blessed relief, another meal, another gift for her loved ones. And we as her children, another time to show gratitude for a meal served with so much love.  Not just on Thanksgiving but every day of her life she did her very best to show us all how much she loved us in the only way she knew how by feeding us her miracles from the kitchen.  

For all of the years we were blessed to have our dear Mother, we showed her how much we appreciated her and hopefully we have carried on by doing the same thing for our children. Mama shared her love for her children and her friends and anyone who showed up for a meal at our table was treated with respect.  We ate off of dinnerware that my Mama got from the Jewel Tea man.  One of my brothers bought her the flatware we used but it could have been Lenox and the best grade of sterling silver on the market but the best gift of all was the love she put in every dish she served. 

Thanksgiving is a day when we should all remember our blessings and thank God for all that He has given us and I do but my greatest blessing of all was the one who gave me life and nourished me with love and kindness and showed me how to do to same to others no matter who they were or where they came from. 

?© 2003 Nanci L. Stroupe

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