The Kitchen is Now Closed!

"The Kitchen is Now Closed!" If you had Sunday dinner at our house when I was growing up, you would invariably hear my mother make this proclamation around 6:00. It meant, if you wanted anything else that night, you would have to get it or make it yourself. She was done.

Sunday dinner at our house was a big deal. My mother would start cooking around 1:00 after we returned from church and it would be an all afternoon affair. During football season, she'd cook and come into the den to watch football while things were simmering on the stove. After she made the announcement that the kitchen was closed, she would come into the den with either a bowl of ice cream or a rum and Coke, depending on how long her day had been. She'd say, "I'm going to sit here and enjoy my ice cream (or drink), then take my shower before 60 Minutes comes on." It was the same thing every Sunday.

My mother passed away on September 27, 2008. The kitchen was sort of closed then, but I continued to cook in that kitchen for my father whenever I was at their house. Everything I know about cooking I learned from my mother. She was the greatest cook I have ever known. My mother learned everything she knew about cooking from my grandmother, who was also a great cook. My mother never wrote anything down, but always knew what was needed to make a dish just perfect. In all her years of cooking, I only saw my mother burn one thing. One Sunday when we were just about to eat, there was a commotion across the street and my mother ran into my room to look out the window. While watching the scene unfold, the string beans she had been cooking all day stuck to the bottom of the pan and burned. I thought it was funny since she had burned part of the dinner being nosy, but she was thoroughly upset as the string beans were an integral part of the dinner she had planned for that day. We ended up having spinach instead. I used to tease her about that often in the following years.

Last week, I spent the better part of the week watching movers take my parents possessions out of the house I have called home for the last 35 some odd years. My father is moving to Florida and he is taking some of the household goods to his new location and my brother and I are getting some of their other possessions. One of the main things I wanted are the two cast iron skillets my mother used to cook with all the time. My guess is those skillets are older than I am at 47 years old. They are well seasoned and have been a part of some of the best meals I have ever eaten. Now I get to use them and hopefully can continue the tradition of creating great food.

My mother was one of my best friends. I used to speak to her on the phone at least once a day and many times two or three times a day. I would call her and ask her the most mundane of questions about cooking just to get a rise out of her. My questions would be like, "How long should I keep the potatoes in the oven to make baked potatoes?" To which she would reply, "It depends on the size of the potatoes, but somewhere between 45 minutes to an hour. You just have to keep an eye on them." She taught me to be flexible and try different things in the kitchen. She used to tell me, "You have to learn from your mistakes to be a good cook."

My wife loved my mother's potato salad, something I have been able to duplicate almost to perfection. However, the one thing I thought my mother did best was make fried chicken. I have yet to be able to perfect this item and have placed it on my list of things to practice. The two things my mother always raved about me cooking was bacon and fried oysters. My mother raved about my ability to cook what she thought was the perfect bacon. She would wake me up early and ask me to come into the kitchen to cook the bacon. She used to ask me how I cooked it so well and I told her the secret was to cook it low and slow. She never cooked bacon when I was in her house, instead she left that chore to me. It made me feel proud that there was something she thought I cooked better than she did. In regards to oysters, we used to have fried oysters for breakfast on Christmas morning. I still remember when my wife came into the kitchen for the first time after we got married and asked me, "What's the deal with oysters for breakfast?" I told her, "I don't know. It is just something we have always had with our eggs on Christmas morning." My mother used to cook her oysters in white corn meal, but I did mine in yellow corn meal and she thought that they cooked so much better that way. From that day on, the oysters were my responsibility on Christmas morning.

Watching my parents possessions being packed last week was one of the saddest days of my life. It is the beginning of a new chapter in the life of my father and I guess for myself as well. I now have a responsibility of teaching my daughter what I know about cooking. I'll miss all of the good times we used to have in that house and in that kitchen. My only hope if that whoever moves into that house later will experience food and good times as great as we did.

I really miss my mother. I would encourage everybody who reads this that still has their mother alive, to reach out to her and tell her how much she means to you. I promise you that one day she will be gone and you will feel an emptiness which you could have never imagined. It pains me to tell you this, but it is a fact of life. I wish I had one more meal to cook alongside my mother.

In the immortal words of my mother, "The kitchen is now closed!"

Eat, drink and be merry!

Harry