A few Sundays ago, I found myself craving a tuna fish sandwich. Not just any tuna fish sandwich. Tuna fish the way we ate it around the kitchen table on Sunday afternoons growing up. My dad had a special, simple recipe: white meat tuna in water, drained and mixed with salt and pepper, lemon juice, chopped celery and just enough mayonaise to taste, piled between two slices of toasted white bread and accompanied by a glass of cold milk, potato chips, and the Sunday Times spread amongst the four of us.
As I grew up, there were also my grandmother’s famous chocolate chip cookies…
My mom’s flank steak, applesauce, corn chowder, meatloaf…
My dad’s techniques for broiling buttered bagels or making pancakes from a Shaker recipe…
The neighbors up and down street helped me fall in love with brownies with cream cheese frosting and puffy, crispy pavlovas.
There is so much of my childhood that is tied to the food the generations before me created. A giant serving of love and family history on a plate.
But I had this jarring realization the other day: while my parents cooked memorable meals for my brother and me, if I had kids right now, I would not be able to give them the same thing.
Why?
Because I can’t cook.
It’s not because my parents didn’t try to teach me. And it has nothing to do with my genes - I’m related to enough great cooks (including my brother) to know that being a good cook is entirely possible for me.
My main problem is that I haven’t really been practicing. I’ve constantly been in situations when other people have done the cooking or when choosing to eat out was too easy or when I didn’t even have a kitchen.
But when I eventually have kids, I want them to have meals that mean something. I want the food that I cook for them to make them feel warm and loved. And when they grow up, I want them to ask me for recipes the way that I’ve called my mom asking for the recipes for her corn chowder and meatloaf.
Learning how to cook was one of the skills on my Regret Me Not project list that I didn’t get to before my birthday this year. But I’m going to get to it now.
Here’s the plan:
- I’ll make an inventory of what I already know how to cook (I can, in fact, fry an egg…at least sometimes)
- I’ll learn some basics (I’ve been looking at the awesome book Notes on Cooking already)
- I’ll cook something (anything) every day
- I’ll learn how to cook something from someone else at least once a month
- I’ll host a dinner party or brunch at least every other month
And in learning all of that, I should finally be able to pass those plates of love and family history on to my future kids too.
(I’ll be documenting everything I make here on occasion, but mostly on my
Love on a Plate Tumblr)
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