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When I was a child, meals in our house were always a to-do. These meals were not events in the fine china, polished silver and ironed linens sense — they were simply events because every night, there were eleven of us gathered around the table. My mom stayed at home with all of us, and it was her nightly duty to make sure that the meals we ate were, like the candyman's, satisfying and delicious in addition to being filling and nutritious.
Some nights, my mom would be attending to one or another child or task, and it would suddenly hit her that it was supper time. She would put her head in her hands and moan, almost indecipherably, "Oh no. Supper." On nights like this, supper seemed the most daunting of duties for her. But she did it,
without fail, every night (with the help of my older siblings). We
younger ones were assigned to less dangerous and less meddlesome chores
such as clearing the table or sweeping the floor.
While the thought of obligatory cooking was not always the most
pleasant of tasks for my mom, she seemed to impart the mandatory morsels
with little effort. To this day, when we all arrive for our annual
summer sojourn back east, my mom oversees all meals. We share in the preparations, but it is my mom who is the grand eye of rations. She
alone knows just how much rigatoni you need for thirty, or how many
meatballs for an impromptu gathering of twenty. Though we've all seen it
hundreds of times, we never cease to marvel at her mastery.
I always envied those who possessed the skill and confidence to cook
for others. I remember being at my brother's one night as he cooked
supper for his family and myself. With such ease he assembled and
prepped and sauteed and baked. Just as we sat down to the table, there
was a knock on the door. He ushered in his friend without a moment's
hesitation and bid him to take a seat at the table and share in the
repast. Not five minutes later two other friends dropped by, and
although they refused his invitation at first, it was just a matter of
time before they too sat down to join us. My brother's simple supper for five was quickly elevated to banquet status — a trick he no doubt picked up from our mom.
Before getting together, both Kenny and I were quite used to dining out
— sometimes for fun and sometimes just because we were hungry and didn't cook. When we moved in together we thought it would be fun, not to mention economical, to try our hand at cooking at home.
Over the years, without even realizing it, we had each picked up a few
tips and tricks — he from his years of living with roommates and me from my many years in the restaurant business. The first few weeks our menu consisted of no more than the same two or three meals repeated with slight variations. Rice and beans and cornbread became rice and bean burritos. Pasta with tomato and peppers turned into pasta with tomato, peppers, avocado and ham. Our expertise was limited but our desire was endless (as were our appetites). As each week passed, we added another dish to our growing menu.
When I quit my outside job to concentrate on my Writing, I became
responsible for all the meals. Time and energy were on my
side. I began experimenting in the kitchen. My time in the kitchen slowly evolved from an arduous task to stave off hunger to a truly meditative pursuit.
Then one night just as my husband and I were about to sit down, there came a knock at the door. Kenny answered while I put the finishing touches on that evening's meal. As I turned toward the table, Kenny walked into the kitchen with a good friend of ours. "Take a seat," I beckoned, hoping my voice relayed more composure than I felt. "We're just about to eat. I'll get you a plate."
Fortunately, the meal I had prepared was one that fell into the moderate
success category. The dish wasn't quite enough for three, but a little more bread and wine did the job just fine. We sat around the table for hours, taking comfort in our full bellies, each other's company and I, secretly, in an unforeseen mission accomplished.
That supper was a couple of years ago. In the years since, we have held many an assemblage around our table. There is something satisfying in having those I love gather in our kitchen for a meal. Like my mom's, the meals I make are never really fancy but always enough. If I realize it's supper time and the chore just seems too much, I make reservations. And now, I'm sure, so does my mom.
Bernadette Noll is a freelance writer based in Austin, Texas. On being a full-time writer, she says, "My life is forever colored by ten years in the restaurant business. It's always in the back of my mind that there is only one letter difference between writer and waiter."
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