I’m cooking sausage and potatoes tonight for dinner. When I was a kid, it was a go-to meal for my mom because everything roasted in one pan in the oven and she didn’t really have to DO anything. She loved that shit.
She used to serve it with a freshly opened can of corn and a tossed salad (heh heh heh..I’m 12). We used to eat every meal at promptly 6:00 pm, unless my father had to work overtime, then she stalled as much as she could but if he was going to be really late, we ate without him. That hardly ever happened though.
We used to live in a basement apartment under my mother’s parents, my kitchen was small, and our washer dryer was right next the sink. My grandmother sometimes would come down while we were in the middle of eating or my mom was in the midst of cooking and just start a load of laundry…always with hot water so the apartment would get sticky and always with extra bleach. I don’t think I ate a meal for 13 years that wasn’t mixed with the smell of Clorox.
She always tortured the sausage. My mom had this crazy fear of getting some worm/bug from undercooked pork, so she always massacred it when she cooked it.
We would have salad that was simply a head of ice berg lettuce, red onion, canned olives, salt, pepper, olive oil and vinegar. My favorite was eating the soggy red onions after they had been sitting in the bowl for a while.
We always had this plastic felt lined tabel cloth on the table, mostly because the table was a hand me down and chipped and wounded looking and my mom was embarrassed of it.
The one that stood out for me had salt and pepper shakers on it, it always looked like they were dancing. It was red and brown and white and my mom always burnt it with her cigarettes when she smoked late at night.
The meal filled us up and it was even better left over, with some ranch dressing to dip it in.
I don’t always respect my parent…I don’t always know what to say to her or what to make of her, but I’m thankful for the memories I have.
The good ones. The ones I hope they love as much as I did…and do.
I don’t use vinyl table cloth, or have a washer in my kitchen… but I hope what I do pass on to MY kids, is enough for them to look back on and smile when they remember.
That’s all I want.
That’s enough for me.