Home cooking

I grew up in the kind of family that I imagine is something of an endangered species these days - We ate together seven days a week, most of those meals around a dinner table.

My mom had a rotation of dishes that she worked through. It would usually take you two weeks to make it through a complete rotation, but the same dish never showed up twice in one week. Certain events necessitated certain dishes. Wednesday night was always hamburgers. Hamburgers were quick and since we had church on Wednesdays we needed something easy to prepare. Thursdays we got takeout because Thursday was grocery night and mom wouldn’t get home early enough to cook.

To me, it was idyllic. It was stable and predictable and just the kind of thing a kid needs, I would think. Plus, I liked everything my mom made, so I was never disappointed (full disclosure, I didn’t like meatloaf - so as a result, my mom rarely made it. Spoiled? Yes, yes I was).

My favorite meal my mom ever made, though, was salmon patties. I think growing up I thought my mom invented salmon patties. I’ve discovered since then, that wasn’t the case. I have no idea, though, how common they actually are. If you ate them growing up, feel free to let me know.

Salmon patties are canned salmon (bones, skin, and all), mixed with an egg and crushed up saltines, formed into a patty, then fried. Simple. Delicious.

My mom always served them with fried potatoes, corn, green beans, and macaroni and cheese. Those last three were staples in our home. All out of can, bag, or box, all delicious. To this day, I actually prefer box macaroni to the real thing. Blasphemy, I know.

I’ve tried to recreate this meal at home. It never turns out quite as good. So, in an attempt to figure out what I was doing wrong, I talked my mom into cooking it for Sara and I last night so I could watch.

As it turns out, we prepare the dish the same exact way. There was no missing step in my approach, no secret ingredient other than whatever magical thing happens when a mother cooks for her children that can’t be reproduced.

You can see here, it’s all just ingredients, oil, and cooking surfaces:

The result, though, was incredible:

No pageantry, no presentation, just good, home cooked food that reminded me of my childhood.

Also, those were the same exact plates we ate on growing up.

At one point I got up from the table to go refill my glass with sweat tea (another staple growing up) and from the kitchen I could hear the nightly news on the television in the living room. It had been left on while we ate even though no one was in there - something that happened frequently when I was growing up. I had a sudden overwhelming sense of nostalgia that made me really happy.

My mom also made my favorite desert: Oreo Delight - but that’s another post.

After dinner we washed the dishes and then sat around and talked for a while before Sara and I finally had to leave. Driving home I told Sara that I was the most relaxed I’ve felt in months. And full. Really, really full.