My mom died in August, just a month shy of turning 102. She was a success at more than just longevity. She became an art teacher rather than a journalist because her father thought it was a safer profession for women in the 1930s. And even though she’d never picked up a paintbrush until she entered Moore College of Art, her watercolors were as masterful as if she’d been born with the divine gift. She gave up teaching to serve as a Naval officer’s wife at a time when “entertaining” was serious business. Throwing dinner parties and organizing wives’ club luncheons were part of the job, and she had the poise and smarts to…
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Recipephany #1: Little Snackers Peanut Butter Cookies
My mom, of Olympic Seoul Chicken fame, just turned 100. For most of my childhood, she shooed me out of the kitchen when she cooked, distracted when I was underfoot. Little Snackers is the first—and I think only—thing she ever let me bake by myself. Just the thought of Little Snackers sends me tumbling down the laundry chute of nostalgia. Here I go again, back in the kitchen with my mom in her yellow gingham apron, a jar of Skippy, and my thumb squishing the centers of little dough balls. This is my poodle skirt of recipes. Around the time I began baking these, my mom made me a charcoal gray poodle skirt with…
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Charlie the Tuna Salad
For 50 years I have credited my Mom’s olfactory alarm system for saving us from one of the deadliest poisons known to man. She religiously poked her nose into every can before ruling it fit for consumption. But my memory hasn’t kept up with that of my 97-year-old mother. She remembers that she rejected the Tainted Tuna because of how it looked. I was 13 at the time, and eager to make Mom’s sweet and crunchy tuna salad, a task I always relished (pun unavoidable). I opened the only can we had on the shelf and handed it to Mom. She took a whiff. Fine. But then she stopped. “It looked nasty,” she says.…
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Olympic Seoul Chicken, or How My Mom Met Frank Perdue
Olympic Seoul Chicken, a dish popular all over the Internet, began with a contest. After all, winning cooking contests runs in our family. My brother created a prize-winning peanut butter and provolone sandwich (see the PS in the last post). Decades later I too started dabbling in cooking contests. I even entered one of my mom’s heirloom recipes with only a minor substitution and it came in third. My mom could have been ticked off that I used her recipe. But instead, it stirred up her competitive juices. If her daughter could do well with her recipes, why couldn’t she? Her target: the 1988 Delmarva Chicken Cooking Contest. Her concept: an adaptation of a…
