Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Chapter 4 (excerpt)
Every Time I Think of You
Despite our ample supply of slightly dented cartons, cans and jars of preserves, cheeses and syrup, we refrained from excess consumption, mostly because of my mother’s frequently stated distaste for what she called, “Germanic cuisine.”
Mom sometimes served picture-perfect recipes from the old magazines she saved, all with a sense of humor about it. She’d even put up a few of her favorite culinary illustrations under magnets on the refrigerator. I suppose it inspired her. On special nights, hams appeared topped with pineapples and pink cherries, or roasts were adorned with amusingly trimmed potatoes. It wasn’t until I’d dined at boyhood friends’ homes that I realized such meals weren’t a joke to other people.