Cooking in the littlejoe family.

I was talking to my mother this morning, and we got to talking about what I was making for dinner. I told her bbq ribs, and mashed potatoes. She said, "Oh, I could get out my ribs, and you could come over here and cook."

That sounded like a fine idea. So I packed up the ingredients for my bbq sauce, grabbed my small package of country ribs (only 3lbs.) and headed to the folks house.

Now keep in mind, I am cooking for five people. (Wife, mother, father, brother, and myself) When I get there, I discove that my Ma, in all her wonderful glory, has got about 1olbs. Of ribs. I asked her what small country I was cooking for. Her answer was, "Well when I got out one package, your brother said 'aren't you guys going to eat' so I got out the other package."

This whole cooking enough food for twenty people thing was a hard habit to break. I lived with my folks on and off 'til I got married, and used to cook for anyone who might visit. (Siblings, their kids...And so on.) so I got used to making large amounts of food. It took me almost three years of being married before I stopped cooking that much. I finally was able to cook for two. Now I think my mother has reversed the process. When I got there, I was asked if I would make some banana bread. Who am I to turn down my mother? SO I was going to make a loaf of the sweet dense bread. The my Ma got out enough bananas for three loafs. I knew it was going to be one of those days.

So after some toil, and assisted stirring (I am still one armed) we made three loafs of banana bread. It came out deliciously, considering I never, ever measure ingredients. I also started making bbq sauce at this point. I browned some onions, garlic, and parsley, added some lemon juice and vinegar, and procceeded to nearly kill myself with vinegar fumes. After recovering, I added the rest of the ingredients, and turned the heat down so it would simmer for few hours, while I cooked ribs.

Thirteen pounds of ribs is a-fucking-lot of ribs. I seasoned them, put them into a pan that is so large it has no right to be, and threw them into a 450 degree oven. I didn't even bother to brown them. Did I mention that was alot of ribs?

A few hours later, we are all siiting around the table, wondering why in the hell we ate so much, nearly comotose.

That was when I realized that I had become so much like my father it was scary. I remember Sunday dinners, with 20 people in the small 3 bedroom house I grew up in. All of us eating steak, pasta, and various salads. I remember my Dad looking so happy at those times, watching his family eat his creations with such enjoyment (and almost no bloodshed suprisingly).

I think today I finally understand that feeling. You put so much effort into such a transitory thing as food. You wonder why go through the trouble. Then you look at the happy, very full people around the table, and remember that they are the whole reason you did it. I guess for me, cooking is an expression of love.