Mom heard what went into a dish and immediately knew not only how to cook it but how it should taste, a talent she expected everyone to have and was appalled when she found otherwise.
Unlike nearly everyone else in the food world, I’m not an expert cook, an investigative journalist, an intriguing theorists, an anthropologist or historian.
I watched the snow fall on Saturday and wished I could go sledding. It’s horrifying to me that the last time was when my oldest son was around four years old and we lost control and rammed right into a lamp post.
I’ve always thought I should make my own plum pudding but I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that it calls for suet. I love suet. It is my version of Proust’s madeleine–not as classy, I know, but just as evocative a memory, recalling my mom’s Sunday roast beef dinner cooked with a healthy slab of suet on top that kept the meat moist and added a rich flavor of its own. I just couldn’t see it playing any part in a cake.
I wasn’t thinking YEAH! LET’S DO IT!! But he sounded so excited. My child still wants to be with his mom, thinks she’s cool. CRAP.
If you have spent any time with my writing, you know I’m nothing if not lazy and low-rent. So you will not find recipes, absolutely no decorating/centerpiece instructions here.
I’m incredible with savory recipes and a disastrous dunce with sweets, particularly anything baked. This is the reason why it took me about a year and a half to attempt to bake my mom’s 1 2 3 4 cake.