My Mother's Day Story plus Prawn Curry on Rice

I often flip through my old photo albums, tattered and worn from years of misuse. I stop on the old pictures of my mom and I when I was just a kid, and my mind is momentarily transported back to that time and location. It feels so real. It was.


Some of my favourite pictures date from a time when my mom was raising a young, rambunctious boy with more energy that the electricity company. I would only settle down long enough to watch my mom making dinner and less time eating it. It was the story of us, when it was all we had.
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Lemon & Herb Roasted Chicken

I was staring up at the moon last night as it took its familiar place in the sheet of black canvas overhead. It was full and bright and lit up half the neighbourhood with her glow. And I was thinking about my wife and wondering if she was looking at the same moon from a thousand miles away.


Ever since I've known her, my wife always points up at the moon whenever we're outside at dark. She'll comment on how big and beautiful it is and she'll say it's a thing her mom and her have in common. No matter where in the world she is, that's the one common thread that keeps them bound together. 


So with my wife away this week and the common occurrences no longer common, I stick close to familiarity wherever I can find it. And I relish the chance to do the things we normally do because it keeps her close, at least it feels that way. And before bed each night I look over at the plump pillow that normally holds her shape and smile as a stream of light from the moon shines through the window and keeps me company.

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Rosemary & Dijon Pork with Arugula Salad

Tuesday. I gingerly slide out of bed when the sky is painted midnight black. The landscape has been washed in hues unrecogniable without the help of light. It feels like I slept two hours, even though that's not the case. By the time I'm ready to leave, lunch packed and coffee in hand, the roosters at rural farms are stretching. This is the beginning. 

This is the day of the week when time is a major issue. The day speeds along and I play catch up. I'm always a step behind and a faded memory waiting to happen. When I finally walk through the door at night I'm hungry and it's late. Sound familiar? We all face days like this. Long days and late nights and hungry. Starving.

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Homemade Gnocchi with Blush Sauce

Sunday night settles in on us slowly. It`s a day that feels like a visit from family, relaxed and comfortable and unassuming. It's the one day of the week that has its own identity and mood. The stress of the week slowly trickles off our shoulders with each passing hour as we breathe in and breathe out. Exhale and escape. I'm reminded of the freedom that awaits me whenever I greet the light of the day. 

We wake up a bit later than the other days and I fight back the morning as the covers hold on tighter. I can see my wife dreaming, the beautiful sunshine splashing on her face. It`s really the perfect way to start the morning. Late, relaxed and without plans pulling at us. I need just a shot of coffee to help get the day started.

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Homemade Pizza Two Ways

Childhood memories follow me wherever I go. It doesn't take much for something to trigger a flashback to quieter days, easier days. It could be as simple as a song that transports me back to a school dance or it could be something I ate that takes me back to the kitchen I grew up in. The memories come flooding back. I live in the present while my mind drifts back and forth.

I remember moments from my childhood like it was yesterday. Some things are more vivid than others but the ones that stand out play like a movie in my head. I can see the reel spinning and I sit and watch the story unfold, only I know what happens because I lived it.

Like most kids, there was always one night of the week that was reserved for takeout. My mom would pull out the restaurant flyers from a drawer and scatter them on the table and we'd take aim at them. It was usually pizza or Chinese or something else that was easy and inexpensive and in fashion.

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Lasagna

There are a few meals that immediately conjure up images of my adolescence and dinner around the family table. My mom wasn't a gourmet cook, but she was a mighty fine one and some of her recipes did more than just feed a growing boy. When I see or hear about a certain food or meal today, I think about the way my mom used to make it. I also think about those moments frozen in time when I first experienced them. And those memories will live with me forever, or until they're stolen by old age.

When I was a kid I would bolt from the school doors after the final bell rang and race home. I'd push through my front door with the weight of the world released from my shoulders and throw my backpack down, run upstairs to my room and tear through my drawers looking for some play clothes to wear. I'd run back down the stairs, two by two, and right into the kitchen. I used to always ask what was for dinner because I was an inquisitive boy; that and I was always hungry. I knew it would be good no matter what, but if it was something like lasagna the anticipation would kill me.
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Beef Ragu: My Favourite Bolognese Sauce

Comfort food. It usually evokes memories of a moment in our past when food brought us together and connected us. It's usually a flavour or ingredient that elicits those feelings and that binds us to a time when things seemed simpler, were simpler. It's the comfort in food that's been an anchor in my life and allows me to remember and never forget. It's able to reach inside us and pull out an emotion attached to it. I take comfort in that.

When we're in the midst of winter and hectic days in which we're pulled in so many different directions that we lose sight of ourselves, nothing slows us down and grounds us more than a bowl of pasta and time with our family. My wife and I will sit around the table with a glass of Merlot and a bowl of of pasta with our favourite bolognese and reconnect with each other and connect with the food in front of us. We can hear the tic of the clock slow down, the heart beat relaxes a bit and we exhale.
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Sweet Potato Lasagna

I distinctly remember the first time it happened. I was young and my mom was making dinner, as was the norm in my household. I was called to the table when dinner was ready and found a small mound of something vibrant and orange on my plate. This wasn't going to fly.

I mumbled, "What is that?"


She responded, "Sweet Potatoes. Try it, you'll like it."


Not so fast. As adventurous as I am today with food and my palette, that wasn't always the case. There were foods I steered clear from because I didn't like them and then there were foods that I dismissed because I thought it wouldn't taste good. Thought. Not a really good reason, but I was a kid and common sense wasn't in my vocabulary.

So I tried the sweet potatoes. I'm not sure why, but I did. I was finicky back then. But on this day I ate them and I was amazed at the flavour. I actually liked it. It had this caramel sweetness to it and it was buttery and, most of all, I couldn't get enough.  So began my love of sweet potatoes.

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Parmesan Crusted Chicken stuffed with Prosciutto and Goat Cheese

After a long and exhausting weekend Monday strikes fast and hard. Almost out of nowhere it's upon you and never wants to let go. The last thing that I want to do is come home and make something complicated that's going to steal every last bit of energy I have left. Sometimes simple is better.

This is the one day of the week when I want to get in and out of the kitchen as quickly as possible. Go in and pull out the goods I'm making that night and prep and cook and eat. Simple and painless. I do, however, have one sticking point. I refuse to lose out on flavour while saving time. Simple and quick is great, but great taste is still paramount in my mind.

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