Cooking Like Moma

I love to cook.  Cooking can be my way of saying “I care for you” without uttering a word, but rather sprinkling love over carefully sautéed vegetables like my fresh green spinach in olive oil with garlic cloves.  Cooking can say “I want you to be comforted” when I slowly smother chicken in white onions and mushrooms and serve it hot over a bed of fluffy rice.  The gravy alone is comforting, but served over rice it is taken to another level.

My mother cooked almost every day for her family, which consisted of a husband and three children.  Momma was born in Natchitoches, Louisiana and lived in Lake Charles, Louisiana during her childhood.  There is something about Louisiana cooking that makes me feel very, very happy.  The aroma of the spices, the heat of the peppers, the acidic tang of the onions, and the simmering scent of a rich, warm roux make me think of Momma.  Thinking of Momma makes me happy.  She is my favorite girl!

I was born in California but my stomach belongs to Louisiana.  Momma used to fry chicken, sauté okra with corn and peppers, and make pots of perfectly cooked white rice. She never used measuring cups or spoons.  Dinners were culinary events, with the delicious layering of smells teasing me until she called her family to the dinner table.  Poor little girl me would sit on the couch and anxiously rock my upper body into the cushions and repeat “I’m hungry”, making it into a song.   I wanted to cook like Momma. 

When I told Momma that I wanted to cook with her, she shooed me out of the kitchen.  I watched her from the counter, watched with an intent concentration, knowing that I would one day cook like she did.  Occasionally she would give me a slice of the broiled ham hocks meant for the simmering pinto beans or sneak me a spicy shrimp from her jambalaya.  She did this probably to deter me from begging her to cook with her.  She liked to cook alone.  Looking back, I believe that Momma wanted to cook solo because she was in her zone.  I feel the same way when I am cooking.  I am in my zone.  There is a vision I have for the dish that I have to create a certain, very particular way.  Even when following a recipe, I do my own thing.  Sometimes I do not want to add a certain ingredient (because I do not like it) or just do not want to add as much.  I make each dish my own.  Put my oomph on it.  Put my love into it.  There are no measuring cups or spoons to measure the amount of care I put into each dish, so I do not use them. 

Chicken & Rice Deliciousness

Prawns & vermicelli, homemade white sauce

I want people who eat my food to feel the different textures, experience the heat from the peppers, the mellowness of the flavorful sauces, and the tender smothered meat that can be cut with a fork.  I am proud of my delicious meals when I have finished.   My visions are brought to fruition.  When I receive the feedback that the dish was tasty, that seconds are in order, that the recipe is wanted, I am so happy.  Everything that I intended the food to be, it was.

Creamy garlic & butter mashed
 Yukon golds