My culinary arts lack creativity, but my family does not go hungry.
I do not enjoy reading cookbooks, trying new recipes. I prefer the familiar, the tested, tried and true dishes. This choice is not due to my taste buds. Nope, it’s due to efficiency. I am quicker with tradition.
You see, my friends, cooking is not a favorite activity. I wish for a cook more than a maid.
The past four days, I have cooked and cooked and cooked some more … and loved every minute.
Why you may ask?
My son is home from college.
My Iowan niece and nephew have moved here.
My mother wished for a home cooked meal.
Laughter and sharing and more laughter has filled our rooms. The kitchen is the central meeting place.
And I listen.
My daughter shares, giggles, reciprocates the humor of her cousin. My sons banter with their father and voice levels range. My nephew wrestles and joins in. Snippets of stories are shared. Slices of hope, support, of family ring in the air and my heart is satisfied.
The past four days, I have cooked and listened and savored. My culinary love calls for their stories and we are nourished.