Feeding Mom
A Reflection on Food & Motherhood/Daughterhood
A day or two after my birth, my mother Joanne chronicled her first experiences in post-partum motherhood. She gushed with a swelling, deep love for her newborn and how breastfeeding felt like the natural thing in the world. Nourishing her child by the breast made her feel powerful and elemental.
I’ve heard about an intolerable morning sickness and how she worried that she was getting enough nutrition for me in the womb – in her first trimester she lost 10 pounds and had a nearly insatiable desire for grapefruit juice and apple pie - but baby Kim thrived and arrived at 8 pounds, 2 ounces.
Joanne wanted her baby daughter to grow up eating good food and spent considerable time making pureed vegetables and fruits until one day a caretaker gave me a slice of chocolate cake and once those taste buds experienced chocolate, there was simply no going back to whirled peas.
We weathered the toddler years when I very definitely declared that I would NOT eat my “begetables” but later coyly requested a tomato sandwich made with her luscious homegrown beefsteak tomatoes. Those were uncomplicated times marked by the satisfying crunch of a refrigerator-pickled cucumber from our garden or the exotic taste of béarnaise sauce over steaks that we ate on our porch during a thunderstorm.
As I grew, she introduced new foods that expanded my palate and my repertoire – artichokes with drawn butter; spaghetti with marinara sauce loaded with carrots, onions, peppers, and mushrooms; Cape Malay classics like sosaties and bobotie - as well as some of my least favorite dishes like salmon, tabouleh, and calf’s liver.
Eager to follow in her creative footsteps, I challenged myself to learn to make good food to celebrate her as my mom, and bless her heart, she cheerfully accepted my tributes even when I burnt the French toast or attempted to pan cook chicken breast without any butter or oil (“fat-free” was all the rage in the 80s).
Even so, I sallied forth in the kitchen gaining confidence with technique and experimenting with flavors – emboldened by being my mom’s trusty sous chef. By the time I was 12, I knew how to fold spanakopita; deliver tea sandwiches with razor thin slices of cucumber; and serve up roasted Cornish hens stuffed with wild rice.
Our tastes diverged as I entered adulthood. She loves fresh vegetables and fruits and uncomplicated cooking that celebrates bright flavors; I prefer rich meals full of umami and nearly all things pickled. She’s happy to go to bed after a bowl of cereal; my night isn’t complete without a full meal. She loves passionfruit; I prefer chocolate.
I learned a lot from my mother – not only how to cook but also how to a meal with love, to welcome a guest with graciousness, and how to have a lively dinner conversation. Our family meals were marked with certain joie de vivre and it made me believe that the dining room table was a place for good food, good conversation, and connection with the people with whom we dine.
Through the As We Eat podcast, I’ve shared with her about new-to-us food traditions and history (her favorites are our episodes on Purim and potatoes!), and it has opened the door to sharing many stories about her youth and young adulthood in South Africa.
Today (January 25) is my mom’s 70th birthday, and tonight I will make her a handcrafted meal of a union of the foods and flavors that we both love best – curried chicken with cauliflower, apricots, and olives (with a fresh salad of course).
Cooking for her is the simplest, purest way that I can express my love and nurture my mom in her senior years. In this way, we have come full circle.
(Happy Birthday, Mom!)
What a sweet piece, and happy birthday to your mom!