My Little Secret

I've never been able to commit to having a favorite Season, but Fall on the east coast is lovely.  There's an intangible, expectant quality in the air that makes me feel like I should be buying pencils and notebooks, though it's been seven years since I've been in a classroom.  Unless you count TV Commercial Acting classes as school.  (Do you?  Didn't think so.) 

This butterflies in my belly feeling turns up like clockwork every September. 

On a more curious note, something about this time of year also brings out my inner Ina Garten/Nigella Lawson/Lidia Bastianich.  I'm compelled to pull out my crock pot, turn on my oven, and I experience a maniacal urge to begin simmering things.  What the?

Rather than buying a new pair of shoes, I want to go to Williams Sonoma and purchase olive oil that costs $22.  It's not right, and I know it. 

My Sister gets this way, too.  We're both stupefied as to where this make your own marinara mentality comes from, since our Mother has never been the Susie Homemaker type.  On the contrary, she used to jokingly refer to herself as Peg Bundy.

It's not that Ma isn't a talented, skilled cook, because she most definitely is.  (Her stuffed peppers?  Her meatballs?  The best.)  But let's just say she's never gotten giddy over puff pastry.  Or deglazing a skillet with white wine to make a flavorful pan sauce.  Or frittattas made with chorizo, fresh basil and roasted reds.  She cooks, but she's not going to sit on the phone and talk about it.  (Which, oddly enough, her offspring do.) 

Now that I think of it, I suppose my Dad is a bit of a foodie.  He's always marinating something or other.  And all the neighbors do make requests for his split pea soup each winter. 

Still, I'm always intrigued/puzzled (disturbed?) by women who emit June Cleavery type vibes...

Several years ago we were at Hubby's Aunt's house on a weeknight when her daughter announced her high school was having a bake sale the next day.  Well, go to the store and buy a box of cookies, right?  Wrong, apparently.  What happened next, Dear Reader, was Truly Amazing. 

In the most casual of manners, and without batting an eyelid, Aunt Kathy began peeling apples, kneeding dough, and before our eyes prepared two beautiful apples pies from scratch.  I was dumbfounded.  Who was this culinary wizardress? 

Kath couldn't understand why I was so shocked.  "Sweetie, hasn't your Mom ever baked a pie from scratch before?"  (Um, no!  Has anyone's?)

For as long as I can remember, (though my Mother will tell you it was 1988- OK, so I was ten!), Ma worked full time in retail and when she wasn't working was taking me to voice lessons/auditions/evening rehearsals for awful community theater productions.  To this day, my Mother is the most maternal woman I've ever met.  (Maternal and domestic being two very different things, in my estimation.)  But roll her own pie dough, she will not. 

There was another time back in college, when I was at a friend's house and her Mom cooked everyone breakfast.  And I don't mean toast.  I'm talking scrambled eggs, bacon, home fries...and it didn't end there.  There was lunch.  At the dinner table.  I'm fairly certain she would've cooked dinner as well, but we all went to a function that evening.  I think she must've thought my childhood was a page out of Dickens, such was my rampant disbelief at her culinary prowess.

My Italian Mother-in-Law also displays similar behavior, though Hubby doesn't expect this sort of thing from me.  My husband happens to be a thoughtful, independent Scorpio who was cooking and doing his own laundry long before I ever learned how.  (I think he was like ten?)  He's been preparing me romantic dinners for nearly ten years.  In short, cooking for him is a pleasure, mainly because he doesn't expect me to.  Sometimes I flatter myself by thinking I've had a feministic effect on him, but I think perhaps he was just born this way?  (What came first, the Broad or the egg?)

Of course, I don't think I would've fallen for a man who'd expect me to clean and cook for him simply because I have ovaries.  As if my female genetic makeup somehow makes me better at vacuuming or cleaning out a toilet bowl than someone who has a wiener.  The very idea of it makes my skin crawl!   

I was sent to Kindergarten with a tote bag that said Anything Boys Can Do Girls Can Do Better.  I was reading Ms. magazine in the 7th grade (until Ma and Dad decided I was becoming a touch too bitter).  My parents worked hard and brought Sissy and I up to go to college, no questions asked, without any mention of marriage or future grandkids.  I was raised to follow my dreams, not to putter around the kitchen making homemade energy bars! 

Maybe it's the novelty of it that I enjoy?  Or perhaps, after all, my dreams are turning out to be not so different than the ones my parents themselves had? 

Whatever the reason, Dear Reader, I simply cannot help myself.  There's just something so warmie about Fall.  Let's go saute something, shall we?

Comments

[Ma]

So I don't bake from scratch - so shoot me! There is a reason for this....let me take you back to 1972...my new husband (dad) asked if I could bake an apple pie like his mother's...no big deal...of course I can...well, 2 hours later I found myself ready to throw this ball of dough out the window of my apartment because it wouldn't roll out...luckily for me my little 14 year old sister Kim stopped by to visit and finished rolling the damn pie...I still get shivers thinking about it...just remember, my love, baking does not make the woman...I love you...ma

[Sissy]

I, too, feel like making beef stew and and warmy things like apple crisp. Unfortunately, it is 85 degrees and that really puts a hamper on the cold weather cooking.

PS You look pretty in the picture.

[Amy]

Who is the blonde cooking in your kitchen?
My mom makes a good breakfast, but your mom brought me pajamas! That was a good day.

[The Odd Broad]

~Sorry, Mommy, I didn't know. I wouldn't bake a pie after that, either. In your defense, Auntie Kimmy is a baking machine, so it's no wonder she could make homemade pie crust at 14!

Also, I can't believe Daddy asked you to bake him a pie like Grandma's.

~Sister, it will be cooler by the time I come for a visit! And then we will do Fall things. Drink cider and wear sweaters and walk through leaves and stuff.

~Am, didn't you know I just got my highlights done? Tee hee. I don't remember my Mom buying you PJ's? When was that?

PS-I still dream of Nancy's chicken salad!