My Mom’s birthday was Saturday. She was in Chilhowie and I was in Arlington. We’ve definitely had our ups and downs – my sister says this is because we’re too much alike. Usually, if I’m home for more than 36 hours, there is some sort of screaming or fighting or sassing involved. I’m sure that once every couple of weeks, I end a phone call with, “I’mnothanginguponyoubecauseI’msayingbyerightnow.” That being said, she’s Mom and she understands me in ways that no one else does.
Which is why she never sounds perplexed when I employ the Vicki Beattie Cooking Helpline. Like when I decided to make her infamous bread recipe for Christmas gifts in 2005, and I called wondering what I’d done wrong by pouring a quart of warm yeasty water into a mountain of 9 cups of bread flour ON MY COUNTER. I’m sure she was thinking, “How is this my child and why did we pay a gazillion dollars to send her to college?” but instead, she calmly suggested that I should have used a bowl until the flour and water had formed a dough. Or when she listened to countless ramblings about my plans for Friendsgiving – things like “how many onions should I buy?” and “can I make [insert Thanksgivingy dish] ahead?” and “should I really serve tomato juice?”
Pork barbecue happens after the jump
So it wasn’t odd when I called her Friday afternoon and told her I’d decided to make pork barbecue for Sunday night and needed her help. And it wasn’t odd when I called her on my way to Harris Teeter to find out if a Boston Butt is a real cut of meat (answer: yes.) and how much I would need to feed 5 people with leftovers. Or it wasn’t odd that, after the meat had cooked all night in the crock-pot, that I called her to ask if I should have seasoned the meat besides cooking it between layers of onions with cloves of garlic stuck into it. And it made total sense that I had to call her twice to make sure I got the barbecue sauce right on Saturday afternoon, that I needed to check with her about cooking fresh green beans Mom-style, or that I was wandering around Harris Teeter killing time on Sunday morning so I could talk to her after church to find out what the best cole slaw dressing is.
Maureen with a plate straight out of the Vicki Beattie playbook
In the end, it worked out that I’d cooked an entire meal with Mom over the weekend. We may not have been together in person, but like so many things, it couldn’t have come together without her.
My Mom has given me countless gifts, but my love and appreciation for (and ability to cook) basic, good homemade food is pretty close to the top. Happy Belated Birthday, Mom and thanks for everything. Love you.
