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Mama, bless her soul, would be so ashamed of me. And,
if here today, she would tell me so in no uncertain
terms, using a few phrases to pound in several layers
of guilt. Poisoning everyone.
Lazy Missy. Your husband deserves better. If you kept
your hands off that computer keyboard, you'd have time
to avoid that cardboard you call food.
While growing up, I always had bowls of freshly grown,
homecooked vegetables on the table before me. The
main dish, often only on Sundays, was chicken or beef
we'd raised. Mama made bread every week and, crazy
kids that my siblings and I were, we felt embarrassed
by school-lunch sandwiches on those thick slices. Why
couldn't it be have peanut butter and jelly or bologna
on pure white thin slices of Mrs. Baird's bread like
everyone else?
A luscious cake, Swedish tea ring or cinnamon rolls,
each made from scratch, was offered for dessert. Mama
would have never abandoned her large sacks of flour or
cakes of yeast for one of those new-fangled packaged
mixes. Later, when most everyone, including her
married eldest daughter, eagerly served quite
presentable edible fare from a box, Mama was lavish
with her criticism.
But long before Mama was gone, we came to somewhat of
an agreement. She gave me points for being a working
wife and mother, which she had never had to be. She
agreed I didn't have the time to cook a chicken for an
hour, debone it, prepare the casserole dish, and bake
it for thirty minutes.
Frozen chicken was accepted, although she reminded me
I could still raise my own and she could show me how
to remove feathers and cut up a bird properly. I
declined the offer as gracefully as possible.
Somehow Mama even managed to compliment the lightness
of Betty Crocker's?© German Chocolate cake. Now, I
must admit she made the most wonderful cake of that
kind in all of Texas. It would almost float out of
the pan when cooled.
One of my sisters's ordered one of these cakes for a
birthday cake while the younger kids cried foul-"you
can't put Happy Birthday on it!" Still, Mama did
manage to question why I couldn't bake a "proper" cake
on Saturday or Sunday.
Though I miss her and visits to Texas aren't the same
without her food-laden table, I am sort of glad Mama
can't be in my kitchen right now. In the heat of
summer (I also blame it on age), I have given up on
just about all of the cooking ideas of past
generations. I've gladly accepted fast and
convenient.
If I want either of these, I only have to open my
freezer.
Garden veggie, grillers or pizza burgers. Chicken
patties. Spinach ravioli. A super-size bag of
mesquite-grilled chicken breasts. With one of these
as entr?©e, all I have to do is dump a bag of frozen
vegetables, any one of numerous mixtures, into a
steamer, microwave for four minutes and serve. Sara
Lee?© makes wonderful cheesecake.
Mrs. Paul's?© has pie to die for. Healthy Choice?© makes
yogurt you simply can't resist. OOPS, I almost forgot
the salad. I'll just run out back, cut some leaf
lettuce, pull up a few green onions and snip a tomato
from the vine.
One of those old-fashioned, inbred, Mama-processes-
gardening-hasn't quite been "convenienced" out of me
yet.
Barbara Deming
tejasbabs @ aol. com |
