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Cooking is at once child's play and adult joy. And, cooking done with care is an act of love
--Craig Clairborne
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DINNER IS READY WHEN
THE SMOKE ALARM GOES OFF
As a mother of teens, I spend half my life shuffling down the bright aisles of the supermarket with a glazed look in my eyes, and the other half listening to a chorus of, "Ma, there's no food in this house!"
Just yesterday, I followed a dented maroon van in a caravan of "grocery moms". I laughed aloud when I read its bumper sticker: IF WE ARE WHAT WE EAT, THEN I'M FAST, CHEAP, AND EASY.
Truer words were never slapped on anyone's backside! Minutes later, at the store, I wheeled my squeaky cart past that same grocery mom and noticed she sported a bright yellow t-shirt stating: ALL STRESSED OUT AND NO ONE TO CHOKE.
I know the feeling! Especially since last week when our beloved microwave became too pooped to pop while trying to prepare my snack of light-buttered popcorn.
Two days and $79.99 later, I was the proud possessor of Mabel -- my new microwave. Some folks name their cars, boats, or dog, while I lovingly christen my food zapper.
Forty-eight hours without a microwave was definitely "cruel and unusual punishment" for this baby-boomer, even though I grew up totally nuke-less.
That's right! As a pre-teen, I remember enjoying a TV-dinner as a once-a-year treat while we watched the Wizard of Oz on television. Mom would put our foil-covered trays of Salisbury steak, peas & corn, and hot cinnamon apples into the pre-heated oven and they would be ready by the time Elvira Gulch's bike blew past Dorothy's window.
These days you can nuke a microwave "baked chicken breast in gravy with mashed potatoes" dinner in six minutes -- the time it takes to unload the dishwasher, throw laundry in the dryer, and lose a couple games of computer Solitaire.
Mabel's bubbly beep is music to my ears and I'm truly proud of all her hard work.
I'm also proud of the fact that I can nuke a baked potato in about seven minutes fluffy (not flat). My mother-in-law, a travel agent for guilt trips, is quick to point out that she used to peel five pounds of potatoes daily so her brood of seven kids could have mashed potatoes with their roast beef, pork chops, or meat loaf.
I try not to feel guilty (or strangle her) when mom-in-law serves my kids chili with homemade noodles, or chicken soup that's been on simmer for three days. After all, I work full-time and then dash home to a tribe of two teens and a burly husband, where she merely had to be at home with seven kids, burly husband, wringer washer, and wood-burning furnace that had to be fed every
hour.
My sister Diane says I shouldn't let my mom-in-law blanket me with guilt. After all, Diane's kids survive without homemade noodles and homemade bread too. She says we shouldn't give anyone the power to make us feel "un-Martha". (Usually
she says this as she throws thumb tacks at the poster of Martha Stewart in her rec room.) For example, when Diane was a newlywed, her husband made the mistake of suggesting she serve him pancakes in bed.
"If you want breakfast in bed, sleep in the kitchen," was her testy retort. They've been married since 1983 and as far as I know he's never repeated the request.
My husband and I tied the knot in 1982 and, even though I've never served bacon in bed, our marriage is still sizzling. But while things may be cooking in my bedroom, I usually don't enjoy heating up the kitchen.
My kids, however, love to eat almost as much as I hate to cook. They expect to come home from football, forensics, or pep band, to a hot meal on the table, even though I'm usually bustling in the door at the same time.
Yesterday, my son bounded in from Freshman football practice, plopped his sweaty self at the kitchen table and proceeded to guzzle Glacier Blue Gatorade while burping, "When do we eat?"
"Dinner is ready when the smoke alarm goes off!" I yelled over my shoulder as I proceeded to pre-heat the pizza oven, peel the cellophane from the frozen pepperoni pie, and set the table with our good paper plates. I may not be a five-star chef, but at least I'm a multi-tasker.
Sometimes I wish I did have the time, talent, and energy to spread our table with a bounty of roasted foods and gourmet desserts. In truth though, I'd rather spend my spare time reading, writing, and enjoying my family. Who knows, maybe someday I'll take a cooking course and flambe the socks off of my loved ones.
Until then, I'll listen for the sweet sounds of Mabel beeping "dinner is served".
Darlene Buechel
Zucchini blossoms may be battered and deep fried, or cut into strips and used in omelettes or soups.
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