My Father’s Meatballs
August 16, 2017
Pollo con Salsa de Ajo
August 16, 2017
Stories Told at My Mother's Recipe
My Mother is a Gourmet Chef
My mother could taste something, figure out the ingredients and then put it back together. She had the gift of tasting something and knowing exactly what ingredient was missing and how much to add. Without any formal training or education and perhaps with some help from Julia Childs and James Beard, (the only cooks on TV in the ‘50s & ‘60s), my mother was able to perfect soufflés, frittatas, mirepoix, marinades. Nothing stopped her or intimidated her. Everyone loved her cooking including all of my friends and my sisters' friends who waited with bated breath for a dinner invitation.
I come from a long line of excellent cooks. My grandmother's cooking was more ethnic-traditional Jewish fare, but as a first-generation American, my mother took it to another level. She never let us in the kitchen while she cooked unless it was to wash dishes, but we picked up on her cooking skills and love of the perfect cooking utensils, knives and equipment, nonetheless. And then the ultimate claim to fame! Her first grandchild (my daughter), having grown up with all this cooking around her, decides to follow her dreams and attend the French Culinary Institute, a prestigious cooking school in New York, to become a pastry chef. She is now the executive pastry chef of a restaurant in New York City.
My mother's favorite food is a hot dog. When, lying in a hospital bed, she had lost her appetite for everything else, we could entice her with a hot dog. My father loved to take my mother (his princess) to the best restaurants, and under her breath she would mutter that she just wanted a hot dog from Leibman's.
Growing up around all this good food I became the black sheep of the family when I decided to become vegetarian. I would not eat my mother's Ramake (fancy appetizer of chicken livers wrapped in bacon), or beef bourguignon.
Years later when my children were born they, too, were vegans from birth. I traveled far and wide to find the best organic fruits and vegetables. No Whole Foods Markets existed 30 years ago. I was fanatical about what they ate and my family teased me about it. And then it just took one little walk to the shopping area near my house to undo all my best efforts. My mother and two-and-a-half year old Liza (the pastry chef) took one walk that would change life forever. My vegan daughter ate a hot dog from the deli.
My mother would not have told me, she did what she wanted with no apology or explanation. But my little Liza walked into the house with a big announcement. She had eaten a hot dog with grandma and she loved it! This story repeated itself two more times with my son Aaron and daughter Eve. It didn't matter what I said, my mother believed it was her right as a grandmother to introduce them to this delicacy.
When my parents took Liza on a trip to Washington, D.C., the highlight of the vacation was that the restaurant in their hotel served foot-long hotdogs, but no mention of the White House, or museums.
Tradition continues. Whenever her grandchildren or my sister or I visit with my mother, we all bring her a hot dog. And in keeping with my mother’s tradition, she fed her great-grandson, my grandson, his first hot dog, and he loved it.
By the way, the dish I am bringing is another form of my mother's favorite food. She made franks and beans into a gourmet dish, adding ingredients to taste without a written recipe.
Jayne Greenberg-Miller
2016 May 14
