Family Fare

My mother is lousy in the kitchen - and a fabulous cook.  A child of the '70's, I was fed every permutation of beef casserole possible, and I am a long suffering victim of bad kitchen experiments. Still, I have been fed deliciously creative food and taught the value of good eating. Consider the evidence:

I've eaten cow's tongue - marinted for a full day in an ugly yellow pot -and could not, would not overcome the sight. To be clear, humans aren't the only creatures with a tough, bumpy skin for tasting. Just ask the butcher to cut you a slice.

I've known the joy Maroccan chicken flavoured with homemade preserved lemons at my mother's table.  The hours of preparation, I hope, were gratified by our celebration of flavour.
I've choked down canned cream corn several times too many. Thanks to California and Mexico, creamed corn is off the menu.

I've anticipated Mom's steamed chocolate pudding at Christmas. Thank you, Mum, for every bite.  I've begun to wonder who will take up the tradition and do it justice.  Help...

And, can someone please explain why a mother would make corn chip casserole the first time she feeds her future son-in-law?  Honestly. Thankfully, she left before dinner and simply slapped the dish on the table.

[Then again, she did make that incredible Spannish Paella that took days to prepare and hours to consume. Now there was a meal that brought the whole fam-dam-ily together.  Legends do not happen overnight.]

The result is this: my mother is the best and worst cook I know.  She is the reason I am both adventurous and cautious about food.  She has every tool in her kitchen for exotic and experimental cooking, but can't be bothered to make sure there's enough salmon on the table for Christmas dinner. She spends days creating delicate flowers to top a cake, but sends me to the grocer for the cake mix. In every meal, there is a victory and a disaster, and I have learned my way around her table.

Here are the rules:

1.   Expect the least; be surprised by the best.

2.  Contribute. Generously. To every meal.

3.  Drink. Wrecklessly, but not irresponsibly.

4.  Count on indigestion.

5.  Smile through the gustatory upheavals.

6.  Help with the dishes. Leave just enough undone to ward off the Guilt Monster.

7.  Say thank you, and part in good time (remember #5).

8.  Accept leftovers. Stop at the pound to adopt a dog.

9.  Print the recipe. She'll just know...

10. Expect the least; be surprised by the best. 

I cannot deny that I find family meals frustrating. Politics, preparations and expectations complicate every gathering and test every nerve. Fear over what will be served, consumed and digested is very real in my family.  But still, however odd or spectacular the menu, I can always count on the uncertainty of surprise. Slowly, I am beginning to make sense of a simple lesson: the less we expect of people, the more we are surprised and gratified by what we are given.  Especially if we didn't ask for it.