Moments in Time

Energetic Cooking in 1980

In our house, there were certain dishes that were Mom’s specialties; I still cannot get her stuffing perfect without her standing right by me but her cooking was more because she was supposed to not so much because she enjoyed it. There were some things she loved making ; the smoothness sliding down my throat combined with the intense fragrance and garlic goodness of a fried onion sandwich comes to mind.

Cooking was an art form for dad; it was as much of a thing of beauty as the gently dancing swirls of the snow as it played against the newly bare tree limbs creating a masterpiece that you couldn’t turn away from. For Dad, cooking and love were inseparable. In the days before the Internet and moveable flash drive storage, Dad’s cut out recipes filled notebooks and drawers silently waiting their turn to fill the kitchen with spice and life. His passion for cooking matched his desires for hot spices:

• I have lost count of how many times, I sat at dinner inhaling glass after glass of ice water cooling the fires that assuaged my poor helpless tongue who had fallen victim to Dad’s latest experiment.
•  “Too hot?” he would inquire, as I chugged hoping the ice water would take effect. 

For Dad too much in life was barely enough; his dial was 450 degrees every day!

This was my senior year and that meant a year without Spanish! I was taking a pre-law class along with sociology and psychology and boy, was I excited! I would race straight home every day to arrive by ten minutes after 1. As it happens, this was the one year that my Dad was not also working late hours with his stroke patients and so he arrived home a short time after me. It was our time and we made the most of it.

1. Throughout the week, dad would make use of his shiny new toy, the new Betamax recorder! 
2. He would tape the latest cooking shows. Yan Can Cook was a popular show; we laughed, stirred, and wok-ed right along with him in his studio kitchen! 
3.  Dad prepared all of his ingredients in the kitchen and then, the real fun and memories would begin. 

You see, most people might remember cooking with a parent in the kitchen but this was more than just plain cooking; the word, "cooking" makes it seem just so ordinary and this, my friends was not ordinary. It was a date with my father that would last 50 years!

Scents are potent vessels wherein a whiff of cinnamon and nutmeg might beam somebody magically back to an earlier time and place but this was different. For me it was learning communication, cooperation, and collaboration.

Each afternoon, armed with a new, must try this one recipe, it was a test of endurance and speed that required an impeccable sense of timing that would eventually drive a sharp path between the shag carpeted den and the linoleum covered kitchen.

• You see after he had assembled all of his ingredients, utensils, and assorted pots, pans, or woks, dad would begin the video cassette recorder (vcr). 
•  I was stationed strategically in the den intently watching each step. 
•  I would quickly hit pause on the remote and sprint the short distance to the kitchen, grabbing the corner of the dining room as I slid on stocking feet. 
• Breathless now, I would spit out the next step in the recipe with all the importance of General Washington’s spies delivering the next report along the Delaware River on that cold evening in 1773! 
• On to the next step I would race back and hit the play button. Aaarggghhh..that’s not play that’s fast forward.
• "Hold on,” I screamed to Dad,I don’t know what to do next.
• "Hurry!" He replied, now, matching me with equally increasing panicking tones in his voice, “The onions are browning fast..what do I do next?” 
• Back at the right spot on the video tape, I retraced my steps to kitchen central to deliver the message before the onions were a total disaster spelling out the dreaded, we must start over!

Suddenly, I was starving and my nostrils were assailed by intoxicating smells, some new and unfamiliar, others reminiscent of recipes past. Now I was beginning to get really hungry! The table legs were beginning to look appetizing and I wouldn’t vouch for the safety of a moose if it walked through our dining room at that particular moment! Are you kidding me? Who eats dinner at 5:30 PM every night? 4 PM is the perfect hour for dinner… I sighed the long suffering sigh of those knowing they have already lost the argument, trudging upstairs to find the book the would take my mind off of the culinary masterpiece that our tag team cooking style had fashioned from humble ingredients, a little bit of Yan Can Cook, and a remote control.

Whenever I think of my senior year in high school, cooking in the early afternoon with Dad is one of my most powerful memories. When I got married, Dad insisted on stocking my kitchen with the right tools; I wonder if he saw it as a powerful contribution to a successful marriage. 30 years later, a few pieces that he bought still remain in use in my kitchen but strangely enough, my husband also connects food with love and has always done most of the cooking in our home.

Dad’s recipes are with me now. Sometimes I get inspired but even though the results lean more towards depths of flavors rather than intensity of heat and spice, I smile to myself as I cook with my laptop by my side. I no longer have to record and run. Instead, I can take time to concoct my latest gastronomic masterpiece as I savor the memories of those sweet afternoons when making dinner was making 450 degree memories to last for a lifetime.