Cooking

Yesterday, I stopped by mother blogs I like to read, and on my way through, I lingered on some of the recipes. I thought about how I could try this one, or that one. For a moment, I was swept back in time to when I had people to eat my food who didn't throw it or throw it up.

I remembered cooking large meals for groups of friends, sitting around a full table with wine glasses in hand. I would spend days planning, hours preparing. Not anymore. I still cook, but I stick to quick and easy meals that are not very inventive. Yesterday, looking at recipes that normally would have sent me to the grocery store, I wondered why I had lost my love of cooking.

Tonight, I remember why. I decided to make something more difficult than I've been making lately. I sautéed shrimp, made a white sauce, and tossed it all over pasta. I steamed fresh asparagus so it was just tender. And I placed carrots in a light honey sauce. I arranged it all on the plate and stood back to admire the contrasting colors. For a moment, I was the cook I once was.

But that wasn't to last. When I carried the tray to my mother's room, she looked at me as if by handing her this food, I had asked her to run a marathon. When my daughter sat down at the table, she whined, "What is THIIIISSSSS." When I said she needed to at least try it, she climbed under the table to sulk. So, sue me; I was inspired.

I sat at the table, by myself, trying to eat this meal I so carefully prepared. I couldn't remember why I had gone to so much trouble.

The good news is Mom ate almost all of it (unless she really fed it to the dog--which she sometimes does). And Sarah eventually emerged from her sulk to eat all of the shrimp and take one bite each of the veggies. But as I cleaned up the many pots, pans, and dishes I used to create this meal, I knew it would be simple tomorrow night. Like any performer, a cook needs an appreciative audience to continue the performance. And the mac and cheese brigade just aren't in the mood. Funny how the same foods appeal to both ends of the age spectrum.

Sigh.