Those Who Forget the Pasta are doomed to Reheat it

For the average American kid, Saturday mornings are spent eating cereal and watching cartoons; however, my childhood memories are slightly different. When I woke up, I would quietly make my way through the house to my parents’ bedroom. I would climb up into bed with my mom and we would turn on the TV and flip straight to The Food Network. Chefs would be whisking, sautéing, and baking away while my mother and I enjoyed our lazy morning. After watching an episode or two of Paula Dean or Rachel Ray, we would make our way to the kitchen to put what we had learned to the test and cook up some breakfast. The smell of bacon, waffles, and eggs would fill the house and my dad, brother, and sister would soon make their way to the kitchen for a family breakfast.

            During my childhood, food wasn’t just something I ate; it was something my family and I shared, something we all enjoyed together. My mother is an excellent cook. She would spend time every day in the kitchen preparing dinner for her husband and three kids. I can still hear her voice calling us to kitchen, saying dinner was ready. My siblings and I would race to wash our hands and get into the kitchen in order to get what we considered the best seat at the table. Our mom would serve up whatever she had chosen to make that day—she made a very wide range of dishes, but somehow, all of them shared something familiar. I can’t put my finger on exactly what it was, but no matter what my mother cooked, I could tell it was from her—all her meals were delicious. We would typically have a main dish of some sort of meat, with several side dishes. My favorite of her creations included barbequed chicken with canned green beans, hardy minestrone soup with buttered bread, and the best—her slow cooked baby back ribs smothered in barbeque sauce. My mouth waters just thinking about the delicious meals my mother used to cook for us to enjoy.

            My mother’s cooking was not only central to my childhood because of the foods I ate, but also because of the time I spent with my mother in the kitchen. She taught me everything I know about cooking—everything The Food Network did not, that is. I clearly remember spending a morning with her learning how to make the perfect egg, bacon, and cheese sandwich. She had learned from her mother, and then passed the unwritten recipes onto me. I never met my grandmother—she died before I was born—but I feel that through cooking with my mom, I have come to know a little part of who she was.

            Food is important to my family; it is important to the relationship I share with my mother. It may be hard to believe after describing all the scenarios of my mom and I spending time together, but I am quite the daddy’s girl. Growing up, I loved camping, fishing, and sports; so cooking was one of the only things my mom and I really shared and could bond over.

            During my teenage years, food shifted from a family thing, to a friend thing. Like some teenagers do, I began to grow away from a family a bit and was more interested in being social with my friends. A lot of the socializing we did involved some sort of food. Whether it was cooking together, going out for a meal, or just grabbing a snack, it was a social event first and eating because we were hungry second. My friends and I had our favorite places around town to eat. Café Mexicali was a local Tex-Mex restaurant that had the best smothered burritos. They were huge, and delicious, and they would give students a discount, so naturally, we ate there a lot. We would get our food, grab a table and dig in—to our dinner and our conversation. We would finish eating after about thirty minutes, but continue sitting in the restaurant, sipping soda and talking for another two hours. When I go back to that restaurant, or taste one of their smothered burritos, I do think about how delicious the food is, but what I appreciate the most is the memories of the good friends associated with it.

            I had one friend growing up in particular that I enjoyed a lot of food with. We have been best buds since the second grade, and to this day, every time I drink a Starbucks or eat Panda Express I can’t help but think about him. Throughout high school, we would go to Panda Express at least once a week and order chow mein and orange chicken. We also frequented the Starbucks that was located exactly half way between our two houses. He is one of the best friends I’ve ever had—we had known each other for so long, yet never ran out of things to talk about.

            From spending Saturday mornings cooking with my mom to going out for burritos with my high school friends, food has played a significant role in my life. It has not only provided me with nourishment and satisfied my hunger over the years, but has been central to the development of my relationships with those I care about. The food I’ve eaten in my lifetime does not necessarily have a specific cultural significance or ethnic trends; however, the variety of food I have consumed matches the variety of friends and family I have enjoyed it with.