I've been tastin' my mother's cooking in my mind the past few days, and I'm kinda wondering why, and why now.
My mother wasn't a fantastic cook, nor was she a dreadful one. Rather, she turned out good, hearty meals that I still remember fondly, forty-some years later.
We ate a lot of what's called "down-home" cooking, which was (is) fine with me... I adore fried chicken, porkchops, corn bread, and mashed potatoes; indeed, I could probably eat those items for a straight month without getting tired. Spaghetti was another favorite, as was kielbasi (Polish sausage, to the uninitiated), macaroni and cheese, and meat loaf. Her hamburgers were always well-done (I prefer rare), but always good.
That's the key, I think- it was her cooking, with her personality and love mixed in with the other ingredients. Not the best, but what I knew, and loved; I'd rather have that. No matter the budget, she managed to keep three growing boys, herself, and the dog and cat well- fed over the years.
Thank you, Mama; Lord willing, I'll put my feet under your table again, when this day is over forever, and the new Day dawns.