 |
|
|
Certain aromas can send me back in time quicker than H.G. Wells’ Time Machine. My parents made many contributions to my aromatic sensory library. They never considered cooking a science; recipes, if used at all, supplied the starting point. The art of cooking in my home allowed for creativity and personal taste. As with any creative endeavor, failures occurred, yet these failures often produce the most laughter at family reunions.
Memories of Mom baking numerous loaves of Irish Soda Bread to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day often bring tears to my eyes. These tears come from laughter because no two loaves ever looked or tasted the same. One year she made a loaf moist, like cake, and shaped like a cone. She had no idea how she did it and could never duplicate it. Mom took a lot of kidding about her culinary skills, but it didn’t deter her efforts. My fondest memory of Mom’s cooking comes from when she made cornstarch pudding, a simple sweet dessert. Her creativity shown forth when she stepped in front of a soup pot. Never fearing experimentation, she mixed unlikely ingredients usually producing surprisingly tasty concoctions. The smell of homemade chicken noodle soup triggers memories of being greeted by a steaming bowl of hot soup after a hard day of playing in the snow. For years, I tried to reproduce her vegetable soup with no success. Now instead of trying to replicate her recipes I just follow her example and produce my own unique creations.
Dad’s culinary skills surpassed mom’s skills in several categories, yet I never remember him making soup or cornstarch pudding. Their combination of skills reminds me that we each need to cultivate our own gifts. Dad’s gift stemmed from his Italian background. We often enjoyed homemade tomato sauce simmered throughout the day allowing the scent to permeate the house. Dad prepared our holiday feasts, so even Thanksgiving had a touch of Italy, with Italian sausage stuffing and an array of black and green olives. Our Spring feast occurred on Palm Sunday with twelve layer cheese lasagna and spaghetti accompanied by hot and mild Italian sausage, and of course home made meatballs. Being the youngest, I had the responsibility of grating the fresh parmesan cheese. I can still remember the smell of the fine aged cheese and the pain of the scrapped finger tips.
These days my diet restrictions often prevent me from duplicating my favorite recipes of the past. So the fragrant scents of days gone by must provide enough fond memories to sate my need for these forbidden comfort foods. A prayer of thanks goes up to God for my ability to travel in time with the gift of memories.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
If you died today, are you absolutely certain that you would go to heaven? You can be right now. CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.
|
|
|
