daxx
meatloaf and chicken with rice
Too bad she would only cook twice a year
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meatloaf and chicken with rice
Too bad she would only cook twice a year
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there a myriad turns on this and it was what my mom called Pofoo (a contraction of poor food) and would actually bust out a number of versions of this... sometimes even with the always handy can of Veg-All.Originally Posted by ianmonsta
my mother isn't quite the cook she used to be anymore due to fixing most things now to go in accordance with her own personal health concerns like high blood pressure and such, so i cook a lot of basics much better than she does now... not to mention the fact that i totally PWN her with fish. but she gots the soups and sauces from the beyond.
i can make most of the mexican fare in my sleep, but i just can't whip her with something like Albondigas or Cocido... it's just f***ing experience.
and her New Year's black eye peas are the BOMB!
interesting side note to this... my mom, a Mexican, was NEVER able to make a better pot of frijoles de la olla than my father did... and he was German.
Applesuace cake with peanut butter frosting. The cake was a recipe from her mom, and her sisters made it as well, but the frosting was her own. Most of the friends I had growing up, were because of that cake. Unfortunately, the frosting recipe died with her, and I have yet to duplicate it.
Though my Mom tried cooking a well-balanced meal almost every night when we were growing up (with varying degrees of success, but for which I'm forever grateful and have thanked her on many occasions), she was most renowned for her weekend baking. Easily the most exacting, meticulous, and well-organized person I've ever known, she is naturally suited for the precision required. Cookies, cakes, cupcakes, brownies, biscuits, always all scratch of course and picture perfect every time. I was the official beater-licker, and a damn good one too.
But.... if I have to choose one thing.... it's the pies. I'm ruined forever by homemade pies. I can't believe the kind of sticky, sickly sweet, cardboard-crusted **** restaurants try and pass off for pie. We had Strawberries and big Apricot and Peach trees in our yard, and my grandparents had an orchard where they grew damn near everything, so it was seasonal fruit pies all year round. Mom's crust was the best most flaky you could imagine, with plump, superripe organic berries of all sorts, apples, peaches, bananas, apricots, lemon meringue, etc. Never too sweet, but always just right. On pie days my sis and I would stand impatiently by in the kitchen waiting to scarf down the leftover oddly shaped strips of crust being lightly broiled with cinnamon and sugar til just caramelized. If nostalgia has a smell, that is it for me.
But alas she is not a perfect creature. Of our least favorite dishes of hers, one was affectionately known as "s**t on a shingle" (chipped beef on toast--we loved it, dad hated it), and "dog food in a cloud" (ground beef mixed into mashed potatoes. This one dad loved, but I still gag at the mention).
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I'm still laughing. 
I BELIEVE I'll have another beer! 