Ode to my mother - Mother's Day 2010

When I was 8 after incessant begging, my mother made a weekday evening our 'cooking night'. This quest on my part to learn to cook and present a perfect meal most likely stemmed from a wish to take credit for this worthy pursuit. My father's mother was the consummate baker and presented cookies and cakse for very occasion. I apprenticed on her kitchen floor with my own eggwhites beaten to a pulp at the tender age of four or five to keep me from being underfoot. Julia Child was igniting America's interest in French cooking at the same time as macrobiotic and other sorts of health food were entering the mainstream. Our next door neighbor had the first 'health food store' nearby and she was raking in the bucks.

The weekly ritual would start with a proper shopping list of ingredients ensuring a successful evening's prep. We would walk or bicycle to Mr. G's, our local food emporium or perhaps the Co-Op if items exotic were required; exotic in those days including such basics as fresh garlic or ground lamb. Everything seemed to involve butter or cream or bacon to deliver that perfect thing known now as mouth feel.

In later years I paid my way with catering, working in cafes and for an exciting if terrifying 6 months a true position as line chef at a fancy French hotel (the chef threw his favorite knife when angered, though never at staff to be fair). I still find the act of prepping food, getting the proper mise en place, my most relaxing and indulge in that craft even when cooking just for myself (all those little containers to wash are nothing). I find I am most popular with friends for quietly stepping into that task, they think I do it for them.

This year was most fulfilling as my mom and I tried multiple versions of french toast. Who knew that croissants with all their lovely butter make dandy specimens. They crunch, they turn an adorable golden color, they go beautifully with maple syrup or with just picked strawberries tossed with powdered sugar. Don't forget to dip something in chocolate.