I have a reputation on social networking sites for frequently posting what I am currently cooking or baking. Occasionally I am teased for my constant culinary posts, but just let me stop posting them for a day or two and I’m hearing, “Hey! What gives? How come you’re not posting your food? How am I supposed to get ideas for dinner?” So I just keep posting my little food posts and hope they are a blessing.
Not surprisingly, I cook and bake very much like my mother did. She familiarized me with all things kitchen from a young age, and had me cooking full meals by age ten. To say Mama was an unconventional cook would be quite the understatement. How I miss hanging out in the kitchen with her, smearing one another with cake batter, stirring homemade stuffing by hand, making up recipes on the fly. One of the hardest things about posting and sharing about what I’m concocting in the kitchen is that I am invariably asked for the “recipe”. I usually have to strain my brain trying to remember how I did it. That’s how Mama rolled.
I am an unabashed believer in comfort food, whether for its physical healing power or for its simple ability to make someone feel better in general (or both). Comforting and healing through food seems to be a dying art, and I don’t intend to let it go quietly into the night.
One of my favorite things to do is cook for an army of family and friends, to nourish their bodies with good grub and their hearts with fun company and hugs and lively conversation. This, I think, will be part of my legacy.