skinny love

When I was a kid, my Mom had a magical way of knowing how to do certain things. She knew how to ready a pool for the summer by pouring a full case of baking soda into the water by early Spring. She knew how to steam open mussels using a subtle blend of garlic, salt, pepper and white wine in the bottom of a deep pot. She knew how to sew a hem into the bottom of a pair of pants in less than ten minutes and you could never see the stitches of thread. She knew how to cook corn on the cob in a pressure cooker. And she knew just when to open the valve so that the corn came out tasting sweet and tender every time. She knew how to do things. She knew how to fix things.

When I moved of the house in September of 1995, she wrote many of these things down for me in a beige three-ringed book that she gave me for Christmas. The book came in a fitted box and had spots for inserts and further additions. Her instructions were detailed and written out by hand in her near-perfect penmanship. I saw this book as a great platform from which I could attempt adulthood on my own. It contained metric conversions and had emergency substitutions for recipes. It also included instructions on how to cook a turkey and things like what to do with leftover pie crust.

The funny about this book is that the more I use it...the more I treasure it...but also, the less I need it. It is now sprinkled with cocoa and olive oil and stuffed with additional regular recipes that I've discovered over the years. I do however still keep it in its original box that gets put away over the fridge after each and every use.

At 35, I have learned how to cook a turkey and bake muffins from scratch. I have also found that the internet is a much better source for emergency substitutions for eggs or baking powder. There are many things I do differently from those original hand-written instructions. I have now scrawled some of my own notes in the margins. I have also gone from groping my way in the dark, to embracing the crisp and often brisk air that accompanies getting older. But I almost always take out that small beige book, and flip through it at least once, before cooking or baking something from scratch.

I have also found that some things that she's written down don't really work in my kitchen. At first, I thought I was doing something wrong. I'd call her and we'd discuss at length what kind of margarine I was buying and whether my baking soda might be a little too old to get the right consistency for soft and flaky cinnamon rolls. All possibilities, but no conclusions....with conversations drifting to different topics over the phone after we theorized over the problem. Over the last few years, I have also been paying closer attention to my mother's failing hands as she accomplishes these same tasks in her own kitchen. I watch her once beautiful fingers as she pours hastily-measured ingredients into the same glass mixing bowl that she's been using for over 30years. I notice the small things now that I never did before. I notice that she tests for consistency, every time, and usually adds a pinch more salt, or sometimes a teaspoon of extra butter. I notice that she does not truly follow any recipe and I realize that she likely never has. And I am left thinking about the value of that book.

I once tried to steam corn using a pressure cooker that had been passed on to me from my parents. I carefully measured out the water, husked the corn, lovingly cut off the ends so that the corn would comfortably fit into the boiling water. I set the timer on the oven and started to drool over my soon-to-be-ready first feed of corn that summer. When the timer was up, I opened the pressure cooker and inhaled the fresh smell. I drained the water and set two steaming ears of corn onto my plate. I slathered them in butter, sprinkled some salt on top and poured myself a nice cold glass of beer. As my teeth sank into the first bite of corn I realized that the corn wasn't fully cooked. I was heartbroken and confused.

Edging closer to my 40s with each passing day, I now realize that my mother would have set the timer as a guide and then tested the corn before pouring out the boiling water. I now know that my mother would have mixed the cookie dough gently before tasting it to see if it needed more salt. I now know that my mother would have stopped and listened to my father if he said he needed a bit more space or a bit more time before making any given decision. I now know that you can't write out recipes or instructions for every eventuality, nor can you advise someone how to parent perfectly or even how to have a happy marriage. I now know that you need to test for consistency and adjust accordingly.