I have a theory about meals made from scratch.  They are not viable for two people who are working outside the home.  While it may seem perfectly acceptable for a couple to go out for dinner, it somehow appears unseemly if two people with progeny go out often and do the same.  Although I am not so sure that the expectation is as much as for a wife in this day and age as it remains for motherhood.  My Mama chose to stay at home to be with me.  She was there when I returned from school and prepared five dinners a week on her own.  I can still see the linen 1970 something calendar hanging from our tiny galley kitchen as my mother toiled, red-faced, in front of the oven with an apron wrapped around her waist.  I remember her famous meatloaf, and the tiny one she made just for me.  I also loved her incredible ham at Christmas which was basted in brown sugar and garnished with pineapple rings, each one having a maraschino cherry nestled in their center.  Mama’s macaroni and cheese was the absolute best — and yet I wanted the electric colored microwaveable kind.  Her brownies were to die for but I foolishly lamented never eating one from that perfect square residing in the top center space next to the corn in TV dinners.  Instead my mother boiled corn and rolled the cobs in melted butter and salt.  I suppose on some level everyone thinks their mother is a good cook; mine really was.  I never appreciated all the time she put in to preparing our meals each evening.  Now that I am a mother I have tried to step up my cooking.  When I got married I wanted to make my husband happy and please him with my culinary skills.  While they were appreciated, we either wound up having not quite enough or were stuck with too many leftovers.  It was only after I became a mother that I realized the true importance of cooking.  I am not referring to gender here; I am referring to a child’s memory of their family meals.  I grew up an only child in a family of three and our daughter is doing the same.  Just as we were NEVER allowed to eat in front of the television, I do not allow my family to dine in front of any electronic devices now.  I own a pet sitting business and write this blog, but I have noticed whenever I have carved some time to make even the most minimum of meals it has always been greatly valued by my husband and our daughter.  That in turn has inspired me to try harder (which translates into making more time) to prepare our family dinners.  It is interesting that my meals which have turned out great have been met with almost the same enthusiasm as those which have bombed.  I have come to understand it is about so much more than food; it is the effort made, the comfort taken, and the family time spent together at home that really matters.  The Mexican novelist and screenwriter Laura Esquivel said:

“Cooking is one of the strongest ceremonies for life.  When recipes are put together, the kitchen is a chemical laboratory involving air, fire, water and the earth.  This is what gives value to humans and elevates their spiritual qualities.  If you take a frozen box and stick it in the microwave, you become connected to the factory.”

On this night I was making Chicken Piccata.  My little one has always loved to help in the kitchen.  (She is gluten intolerant so I coat the chicken with cornstarch instead of flour.)  She was the one dredging the chicken, aided by a small step stool bearing her name.  I remembered my folks always embarrassing me in the car by singing some song called, “Hey Good Lookin'” and found myself repeating it, to her delight.  By the end her sweet face was freckled with cornstarch yet she remained the prettiest little girl I’ve ever seen.  I felt like Mama and Daddy were with us as I was singing that old song to her:  Hey Good Lookin’, Whatcha got cookin’?  As the chicken browned I spun her around the kitchen while she gleefully giggled and I sang the last verse:  How’s about cooking’ somethin’ up with me?