One of my most treasured memories of my parents’ love of food and cooking is how well my mom remembered favorite foods and drinks. Sometimes, she asked people what they liked. Other times, she noticed on her own. And then she remembered.
My childhood friend Kim loved my mom’s homemade lemon bars, so Mom made them often. My aunt and uncle preferred their food well-seasoned, so when cooking for them, Mom added a little extra magic. My grandma enjoyed Hamm’s beer, so when she came over, my parents had Hamm’s on hand. My grandma also liked to add olives to her beer. They’d float up and down in her glass, and then she’d offer them to my cousins, Cheryl and Mark, and me and my sister, Tracy. As I think of this memory, I better understand my taste for olives — and adult beverages.
When Tracy and I invited a new friend over, Mom asked us beforehand if there was any food she should avoid serving. It might be onions, other times tomatoes, occasionally chocolate. Sometimes, she’d remark about a specific dislike that surprised her: “How am I going to cook without onions?” Other times, she’d realize the omitted ingredient gave her an opportunity to try an old or a new recipe. Then, when she cooked a dish our friends liked, she was sure to remember that preference.
Back then, I thought my mom’s Food Preference Memory Superpower was solely hers, but over the years, I’ve found that many of my best-loved people have it. Thankfully, I’ve also learned the skill. But it took time. And, as with so many lessons, I didn’t learn it easily.
One Christmas, Kim and I gave each other a large glass jar of candy. I filled her jar with chocolate, my favorite, and she filled mine with gummy bears, her favorite. One day, we noticed we’d both eaten the candies we’d given rather than the candies we’d received. We realized we should swap jars. The situation was awkward, but it taught me that just because I think something is amazing doesn’t mean everyone else does. That was a powerful, important lesson to learn, especially so early.
This experience helped me understand better when, years later, my parents resisted celebrating Tracy’s decision to adopt a vegetarian diet. Mom and Dad cooked and served lots of vegetables. Tracy and I probably ate more vegetables than most kids did. But my parents came from meat-loving families. My mom’s dad owned and operated a butcher shop, and my dad’s dad owned a grocery store and served as a butcher there. So we also ate a fair amount of meat. It was difficult for Mom and Dad to honor Tracy’s new eating lifestyle, but since Tracy was in graduate school in Connecticut, they only cooked for her on holidays or other visits.
The first recipe my parents made for Tracy, a newly practicing vegetarian, was Tamale Pie from Moosewood Restaurant’s Low-Fat Favorites, along with homemade Blender Hot Sauce from the same cookbook. I don’t remember the reason for Tracy’s visit, but I do remember we all really enjoyed the dinner. The casserole and homemade hot sauce offered the pleasing combination of comfort and excitement characteristic of many Mexican dishes. The evening was as festive as any non-vegetarian night.
When my mom documented the recipe’s success with a handwritten note, however, she didn’t treat the recipe the same as any great new find. Instead of writing “Very Good” — a rating that would have been a high honor to receive from my mom — she wrote “VGV,” which meant “Very Good Vegetarian.” I still shake my head, smiling when I recall Mom’s stubborn resistance even to sporadic vegetarianism. While I happily eat plenty of vegetarian and vegan meals, in my copy of that same cookbook, I wrote “VGV” to remember that evening.
Tracy’s altered eating choices disrupted my parents’ normal cooking routine, but they took her wishes seriously. Though they teased her from time to time — my dad lovingly called her a veggie terrorist — they read cookbooks and magazines with a new lens. They showed they cared.
I thought of times in my childhood and young adult years when I’d visited a friend and been offered food I wasn’t used to or didn’t believe I liked. I remember a friend’s dad made us shrimp, a food I wasn’t used to and didn’t think I would enjoy. I stood in the kitchen watching him sauté the shrimp and listening as he talked about New Orleans. I don’t imagine my friend had given his parents much notice that I’d be staying for dinner. They were cooking for a guest at the last minute, so they made one of their most beloved recipes. I felt welcome.
It turns out that I do like shrimp. And what I thought would be a scary experience turned into an empowering realization that everyone lives differently. There’s always something to learn. Now I love shumai dumplings and pork and shrimp wontons. I love the grilled shrimp skewers my husband, Lyle, makes with garlic, crushed red pepper, and Parmesan cheese. And I love Tracy’s Mediterranean Shrimp and Pasta, now something she happily cooks since returning to eating meat, made with garlic, marinated artichoke hearts, tomatoes, mushrooms, white wine, and rosemary.
A couple of years ago, while Tracy’s daughter Riley was helping make the Mediterranean dish, she looked at the skillet on the stove and then at me with a silly, shy smile and said, “There are several things in this that I usually don’t like, but I love this dinner.” At first, Riley may have looked at the ingredients, thinking the mushrooms or artichoke hearts were scary. But the dish turned into one of her favorites.
Food itself can be a superpower. Even an everyday grocery store trip can turn into a good memory. While I’m shopping, I may see an ingredient that makes me think of a friend. And sometimes I put that ingredient in my cart. Blake, the son of my longtime friend Myles and his wife, Lora, loves Nutella and pretzels. So if they’re coming over, we’ll make sure our pantry contains Blake’s ideal snack — as well as red wine for Myles and white wine for Lora.
It feels nice to be invited into a friend’s home and see a favorite at the bar, or on the kitchen counter, or on the dinner table. I hope I’ve made people feel welcome even half of the times I’ve tried to. I’m thankful I noticed my mom paying attention to what people enjoyed. I’m thankful I recognized that habit was one I should strive for. My mom has been gone for almost 14 years, but her thoughtfulness is with me every day.
A couple of Christmases ago, Tracy made each of us a binder of some of Mom’s best-loved recipes, entitled “Very Good Family Recipes from the Kitchen of Mary Sue Scheffler.” She started it with a small recipe collection that earned the “Very Good” note or something similar. Over time, we’ll add more of her recipes from her binders and from our own collections.
While looking through my folders, I found a pair of apple bar recipes I’d asked my mom for. She’d given them to me with a note on one that said, “This is the one Dad really likes, so I’ve made it more often. This is probably the one you wanted.”
I was also happy to find that she’d kept a handful of my recipes as well. Among others, I found a zingy marinara that I know I made for my parents a few times, complete with a “Very Good” note. I typed up that recipe for the “Very Good” binder along with a note of my own: “This was from Cooking Light. I made it for Mom and Dad several times, and Mom especially enjoyed it. I used to serve it tossed with pasta alongside Italian sausages, which Dad especially enjoyed.”
A few years ago, while celebrating Myles’s 50th birthday, he and Lora pointed out a couple of my favorite dishes in the catered spread. I won’t name the restaurant that catered the party because they don’t cater — this was a special one-time event. I’ve been ordering some of the same dishes from that restaurant for 30-plus years, and Myles and Lora made sure I noticed that a couple of them were in the mix. I was at the party to celebrate Myles, but at that moment I also felt celebrated.
I continue to be thankful my mom showed me how to practice her special skill. I pay attention, I try to remember, and I think of loved ones at the grocery store and when reading my recipe binders and cookbooks.
One of my mom’s go-to cookbooks was The Ultimate Southern Living Cookbook, and Tracy and I both have a copy in our collections. While flipping through the pages to make sure I remembered the ingredients for Mediterranean Shrimp and Pasta, I noticed another gift Mom had given me. She taught me to write recipe notes. She taught me to save memories.
The shrimp and pasta recipe is on page 281. My note is a large star with an exclamation point, and — because the dish will always remind me of my sister making it for our family — “Tracy’s.” To the left, on page 280, is another favorite, Easy Spaghetti. Along with notes suggesting adding cayenne pepper or salt-free Creole seasoning and saving the pasta cooking water, my note reads, “Big-time comfort food. Lyle digs.”
