
I love beets.
I love the way they feel, heavy and dull in my hands. Their dirty skin, all lumpy and coarse and hairy. I especially love how my hands stain when I peel them after they've roasted.
Beet-stained hands make my think of my mother-in-law, and the ease with which she cooks everything so well. I think before her, I hadn't ever eaten beets that weren't from a can, and I'd had no idea how good they could be. On top of just the cooking, her hands are always busy. Preparing food, working with the children, moving the family business forward, creating amazing works of art, and generally keeping everything flowing smoothly in her life and everyone else's around her.
I remember when I first started to ask her about food, she'd start her descriptions with, "Oh, it's so easy!" Then she'd rattle off the recipe, from memory, complete with quantities and cooking times and temps and variations. I'd get lost after the second step and grab a pen. Then I'd ask her to repeat it very slowly so I could write it down. Then I'd still have to call her when I was in the middle of things and get clarifications about what certain terms meant, like braising, or what a rolling boil actually meant.
A few years ago, I had a friend ask me about something I was cooking, and I started off by saying, "Oh, it's so easy!". Then I rattled off a fifteen-step recipe while my friend's eyes glazed over. That moment, I understood something about cooking, and maybe even more than that. You just have to do the thing you need to do. Eventually, everything will just be so easy if you do it long enough.
Without my mother-in-law, I wouldn't even know how much I liked beets. Or parsnips, or lamb, or whatever that magic salad dressing is that she makes. I'm grateful for what she's taught her son, what she's taught my son and daughter, and what she's taught me.
1 comment:
I just remind myself that she's been at it 30 years longer than I have, and it puts it all in perspective.
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