I’m a cook. I’m an NRA-certified pistol instructor and range safety officer. I’m a wife. I’m a mother and a grandmother. I’m a daughter, a sister, and an aunt. I’m me. You’re you. Can we just leave it at that?
No, according to my husband. No, I can’t just leave it at that. My husband suggested that I tell the story about how I picked up this knack for cooking and from whom I got it. After all, the about page would be the most logical place to put that info, wouldn’t it be?
I grew up in a Cajun household, meaning that I hung around with grandparents, great-aunts, great-uncles, and plenty of cousins. Everybody in Catahoula is related in some form or fashion, and we all lived in relatively close proximity to each other. My paternal grandmother was the one from whom I got the appreciation of a gravy made in a black iron pot, as well as the patience (because you can’t rush good cooking.) The center of the house was always the kitchen. It was usually the biggest room in the house, and the social epicenter of all family gatherings. Well, as you can imagine, as a child wanting to hang out with the grownups, they put me to work. And as I worked, I observed. I was a very observant child, much to my mother’s dismay at times, and I didn’t miss much during those kitchen hangout sessions with my elders. I’d ask a whole lot of questions too, and my grandmother never hesitate to explain anything to me.
My aunt Goldie had five children, and she cooked and cooked and cooked. I got a lot of techniques and recipes from her. Feeding five kids and their spouses and their children forces you to adapt to cooking for larger crowds. For holidays, it was not unusual to have a crowd of at least 30 or 40, including kids, grandkids, the grandkids’ friends, cousin-neighbors, etc. Thereto arrived my proclivity to cook enough to feed the army.
My maternal great-grandmother made the best tea cakes, gateau sirop, and drop biscuits. A lot of my baking knowledge came from her. She’d tie the tea cakes up in a pillowcase to keep them fresh. Also, tarte a la bouille was another of her specialties. Whenever springtime rolls around, I get the envie to make tarte a la bouille and with each bite, memories of her come flooding back.
My maternal grandmother was a little more practical with her cuisine, and this characteristic was passed on to my mother. Baked pork chops, baked chicken, meatloaf….all with a little something extra added to it. My grandmother showed me that seasoning your meat the night before you cooked it made the difference between bland meat and flavorful, tender meat–all the difference in the world.
Growing up and marrying my first husband expanded my palate quite a bit. My first spouse was Algerian, so Mediterranean fare was the order of the day. I had to learn Berber since my first mother-in-law didn’t speak much French, and you could forget about English. I learned how to make couscous (and not the box variety, either), Algerian kataif, chicken smothered with olives, and how to use a tagine (which I am still in search of.) Living in Houston, I had friends of all nationalities and picked up quite a bit of East Indian cooking and also a taste for Vietnamese cuisine. Occasionally, I do cook Indian and Vietnamese food whenever I can find the ingredients that aren’t on the shelf at the local Walmart. Amazon to the rescue!
Now you have the story of the evolution of my cooking prowess. It’s been a craggly path, but….bless the broken road!