As Good Cooks Go

Botulism can't kill you, right? Or is it merely a painful reminder to be grateful that Mother's sabbatical is over and she'll be arriving home shortly?

Mom must have been out of her mind when she appointed Dad as head chef in her absence. Before she left, she calmly assured us that his cooking is better than it tastes, but I truly believe that whatever your age, you can whittle it down by several years if you eat Dad's concoctions.

The first meal he cooked while Mom was gone was indicative of the rest. Thankfully, the nuns gave me early leave from school that day with the strictest orders to help him with the preparations for supper. I know, now, how strongly they believed in family preservation.

I didn't tiptoe, exactly, as I entered the house, but I did walk softly. It was important to have most of the meal cooked before Dad had a chance to start tampering with the foodstuffs. My footsteps were brought up short, however, by the sight of Dad perched gingerly on the piano bench, a fishing net clasped tightly in his hands.

Instead of being in its rightful place, the bench was in front of our aquarium and it was obvious that instead of walking five miles to the pond, Dad intended to catch supper closer to home.

"Dad ! Those fish are too small to feed the entire family," I said rather sharply.

The net swirled through the air as he spun around and managed to wrap itself around him. Guilt was not one of Dad's qualities. He scorned any man who indulged it. Without a word, he stalked towards the kitchen, fish-webbing trailing his posterior until it snagged on the corner of an end table and he was free of it. I followed meekly behind.

At the scullery door he made his stand and adamently insisted that it was time for me to go play or study or whatever it was that children were supposed to do. There's nothing more exasperating than a man who can't cook but insists on doing so.

It usually takes Dad more than three weeks to prepare a good impromptu meal so we were surprised when he announced supper early. As we sat down and bowed our heads in prayer, there wasn't a one of us who didn't know that the grace would taste better than the food.

In all fairness to Dad the soup was better than the mutton and spuds. But then, it's difficult to mess up Campbells straight from the can. Though it might have tasted better if it had seen a pan before it saw the soup bowl. Cold, undiluted coq-au-vin chowder misses the mark of savory delight.

Ah ! I hear the front door opening now. Believe me when I tell you, the heart knows no greater joy than a Mother's embrace and the love she bestows as she cooks each meal.

Unfortunately, while she was away, self-preservation forced me to consider a simple diet. Main course? Celery! Since I've lost thirteen pounds, I think I'll stick with it. Sure beats the South Beach Diet for losing weight.
As Good Cooks Go © 2005 Chaeli Sullivan