Value Statement
Stuffed
I never really understood my friend’s fascination with the way I handled baked goods. They always wondered why I didn’t do things the easy way like the rest of the world and buy what I wanted to eat more or less made for me . What they didn’t get is that I grew up in a family were everyone sees buying premade pie crust scandalous, horrifying crime. A family were one of my mom’s mottoes is “Just say no to drugs, no to alcohol and say no to soup mixes”. I grew up cooking and baking so it’s a normal thing for me.
The week before Thanksgiving is a time filled with cooking and baking. I remember one time in elementary school my mom forced me to skip school a few days before Thanksgiving so I could help her cook. I was too young to make dishes by myself so I was not looking forward to whatever mundane time consuming task she was going to set before me. I spend far too long peeling several pounds of potatoes than putting them in a cooler with two of my Aunts and my mom I spent hours in the overheated kitchen dicing, measuring, frying, Sautéing, cleaning up and any other task my mother set before me. By the time my brother came home from his half day of school it was a little past noon and I was wiped out and so sick of cooking. My mom turned everything on the stove to sim and told my brother to make sure the house didn’t burn down as she took me to my grandmother’s place. I asked her why she was taking me there and she said that her mom called and asked if I could come over and help her finish some pies. She had some of them done but I helped my grandmother make another 15 or so pies. At this point I felt that if I ever had to cook or bake again it would be far too soon but of course my grandma sent me home and back to the kitchen I went. When Thanksgiving finally came around there were about 30 people there plus children. My house was stuffed. There was barely any room for the 17 pies my grandmother brought in our fridge. When it was time for everyone to eat my house filled with laughter and talking. I could hear my mom bragging about how I helped to make everything anytime someone told her how great something tastes. That set my face aflame with a blush of embarrassment. I had only done as I was told. I remember I burst into laughter at the sight of my ridiculously short and tiny cousin who was around my age stuffing his face with what had to be his weight in ham and dinner rolls. When it came time to eat pie my grandmother told everyone who went to get a plate. After everything was said and done everyone had a good time and I was glad I had help make everything. I believe in making food the hard way. It’s not easy and I’ve had more kitchen injuries that I could ever count. There’s something about slaving over an oven that makes it so when the food is finally done it’s not just dinner but a meal where people sit down and have a good time. |