Posted tagged ‘Spaghetti’

“When I die,’ I said to my friend, ‘I’m not going to be embalmed. I’m going to be dipped.’ Milk chocolate or bittersweet was the immediate concern.”

August 6, 2016

Last night I watched the end of the opening ceremonies and the last few innings of the Red Sox game so I was up until quite late. By then the house had begun to feel sticky and close so I turned on the air conditioner. It was a delight to fall asleep in the cool air of the house.

Today has quite a breeze and is sunny, but rain is due late this afternoon. There may even be thunder and lightning so I’m going to hunker down. Tonight’s movie on the deck is postponed. If I were in Accra, Ghana, rain wouldn’t matter. I remember sitting and watching Is Paris Burning? when it started to rain. We all just picked up our chairs and moved them under the overhangs along the sides of the theater. The movie continued.

I don’t love spaghetti all that much. It is just too much work spinning it on the spoon with the fork, making sure I don’t look silly eating it and quickly wiping the sauce off my cheeks from the flying end of the spaghetti. I do like pasta especially ziti and penne, but I don’t ever make it at home. I think pasta is seldom just for one person. It is a crowd food.

Chocolate chip cookies are comfort food. My mother made them often though never often enough. She made special cookies at Christmas, but chocolate chip cookies were for any time. I loved them hot from the oven when the chocolate was still runny. I have made all different sorts of chocolate chip cookies. Some were made with macadamia nuts instead of walnuts. In others chocolate chunks took the place of chips. I’ve even tried mint chips, but I didn’t like them all that much, the same with butterscotch. I learned you don’t mess with the chocolate. It’s almost a holy food.

The sun has already disappeared behind grey clouds making the day a bit darker. I really think rain is coming, finally.

It’s easier to put on slippers than to carpet the whole world.

April 3, 2014

The day is bright and sunny and framed by a clear blue sky. It is a bit chilly but I don’t care. It’s the sun that matters.

Today is a stay home day, a day for the mundane. The wash sits in the hall waiting to go down stairs, the watering can for the plants is on the counter, the litter is by the door where the litter boxes are and the clean sheets are by the bed. I’ll stay in my grubbies all day. It’s that sort of a day.

I forgot to switch from slippers to shoes when I went out the other day. My slippers are a bit worse for wear. Each one has a hole in the toe, the right slipper’s hole being much larger. They fit fine so I don’t know why the holes. I figured it is old lady syndrome though I really don’t think of myself as an old lady. I remember my grandmother wearing her house dress covered by an apron and wearing slippers with the backs down and stockings rolled around her ankles. My other grandmother would never have worn slippers or had stockings rolled around her ankles. She also wore a fancier dress usually flowered, never a house dress, and she smelled like lilacs. This grandmother was not my favorite. My other grandmother always had spaghetti on the stove and cheese you had to grate yourself on the table. She had eight kids and six of the eight were married, and we were all there every holiday to visit, cousins galore. My grandmother had chocolate bunnies for us each Easter and a present every Christmas. My grandfather hid in his bedroom from all the bedlam, but he used to give us dimes if we dropped into say hello. He kept a pile of them on the table beside his bed. My other grandfather was an imposing figure with whom we had little interaction. He was not a favorite either.  It was the slippers which brought all this to mind.

“Food should be fun.”

January 10, 2012

This morning I had to make a quick run to the grocery store to pick up my chili ingredients. My friends are coming over for chili, cornbread and some after dinner games. Right now the chili is happily bubbling ever so slightly on the stove. I’ll make the cornbread later then set the table and put out the fixings. I don’t like beans so my chili has no beans. You purists may cringe but my house, my chili!

I wish it were colder as I always think of chili as one of those warm you up hearty sort of meals. It is 45° and a beautiful day.

We never ate chili when I was a kid. My father was a meat and potatoes guy, and that’s what we ate for dinner most nights though my mother did add a vegetable or two. Spaghetti was about as exotic as my father’s dinner ever got and even that was a bit gross. He ate his spaghetti with stewed tomatoes on top, the way his mother, the worse cook in the world, used to make it. My mother made regular spaghetti with a meat sauce for herself and us. My father also had other strange tastes. He wouldn’t eat garlic except on garlic bread with his shrimp scampi. I used to cook a roast pork and hide the garlic slices in slits on the sides of the roast. He loved it until he caught my mother doing the same thing. She took out the garlic. Once I cooked the potatoes in the same pan as I had mushrooms and decided to leave the small pieces of mushroom to give the potato a different flavor. The mashed potatoes were a bit gray. My dad wanted to know why. I told them they were Eastham potatoes. He accepted my story and ate them happily even though he didn’t like mushrooms.

My father’s eyes served as his taste buds. If it didn’t look good, he wouldn’t eat it. No matter how much coaxing we did, he just wouldn’t try newe foods. I remember once we were eating hommos, and he mentioned it looked like wallpaper paste. Nope, he never did try it.

My uncle had a Korean wife and she cooked once for my family. My father ate only the food which looked a litttle like fried won tons with a filling. That looked familiar to him so he figured it was worth a try. The rest was way out of his comfort zone.

I tried to get my parents to visit me in Ghana. I never thought about the food. I just wanted them to see where I lived and how wonderful Ghana was. Thinking it over now, I guess my father would have been fine at breakfast with his eggs and toast, but he would have had chicken every single night, especially if he had come shopping with me. I’m laughing now at the idea of my father using his hand to pull off a chunk of t-zed, dip it in his soup bowl then eat it. Nope, it never would have happened.

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