079 My Mother, the "chef"

My Mother, the “Chef”

My mother was born

 on February 18, 1916. 

She died at 92, still a character and known to many, even her minister, as the “Bea Arthur of Berryville.” 

On her 90th birthday

Mother as a bride

She said many, many, many times that she wanted to live to be old enough not to have to be “politically correct” or filter her remarks. Gee, my sisters and I often agreed – we hadn’t heard many filters so far. But a character she was! 

Some of my favorite stories, though, were not her sassy remarks, but her “prowess” in the kitchen. (She’ll be turning in her grave now and still telling me I need a haircut!) One of the most hilarious memories was shortly after Mother gave birth to my two younger sisters (nine and seven years younger than I) and she decided to stay home and be a dedicated housewife and mother! Because she was so busy carting around three daughters along with her schedule, she bought a pressure cooker to save herself time. This did not work out. 

Mom was an avid reader, bridge player, and civic volunteer. I don’t know whether she just forgot to return to the kitchen after said pressure cooker was filled or got distracted by one of her duties or…. But the final mishap was the top of the pressure cooker exploding up in to the ceiling and green beans and little new potatoes all over the kitchen. (In her defense, I found a blog site, 

www.missvickie.com/history/pressurecooker, that states that pressure cookers were flawed and the frequency of accidents founded the expression “pressure cooker” implying imminent disaster.) Yes, we had that disaster and Mom was teased about it for 50 years!

One of my friends, hearing Mom-in–the-kitchen stories, asked if she was ADHD. No, I don’t think she was. She wasn’t about anything else. If you said you would do something, you had better follow through AND in a timely manner. Even piano practice! She set the bar high on follow through and she was a great example to us. No, I think she was a “laisse faire” cook. Maybe “benign neglect” of the kitchen is even better. 

For example, I did not know rolls were not supposed to be black on the bottom until I was old enough to pay attention at good restaurants.

One of our favorite family holidays was Thanksgiving. It was a command performance until her death.

Mom would stick the turkey (a BIG one) with a piece of aluminum foil draped over it into the oven and tell us it was time for church. After church, we headed off to a Clarke County tradition known as the “Stirrup Cup.” This was the annual hunt club taking off at noon in their “pink” coats on horseback with the hounds following.

Refreshment at this event was whatever might be in a carried flask or a beverage known as hot-buttered rum mulled in a huge apple butter size kettle over a wood fire in the field where the hunt was to take off. It’s a beautiful site on a crisp November day to watch the hunt take off and to meet and greet local friends. We always stayed longer than expected. 

After the hunt, it was home to prepare for the Thanksgiving spread. Remember that the turkey has been in the oven at some temperature from about 7:30 a.m. and it’s now approaching 2 p.m. The family joke is that no one in family ever had to carve a turkey. “Oh, damn,” she’d say every year as the turkey fell apart being transferred to the platter. Surprisingly enough, the meat was always moist. Maybe the aluminum foil? 

Now, as potatoes, stuffing, the GREEN BEAN CASSEROLE, etc., etc., etc. were warming, we all gathered around the TV to watch whichever football game was on and have one more drink before eating. The signal that all the food was ready and the rolls duly burnt was the sound of the smoke alarm.

Here’s to you, Mom! I am not a big fan of cooking myself, but my oven timer works!

Glenne