OMG. I am so stuffed. You’d think I had just eaten Thanksgiving dinner, three times over. I can hardly think straight, though I suspect the champagne and wine had something to do with that, too.
I am a good cook, I’ll grant myself that. But cooking is an art that was passed down to me from my mom from the time I was small.
In the beginning, I was given the privilege of putting the paper muffin cups into the muffin tins. As I got older I was allowed to stir, then finally create small dishes on my own, albeit usually from a box. By the time I was a teenager, my mom was back in school and then back to work, so I was responsible for burrito night and spaghetti night every week. (At that point, my main dish repertoire was limited solely to items containing ground beef.)
When we moved to Mansfield in 1998, there was no Wren’s Nest. We had not yet been introduced to the Hamilton Club. Dinner options without going to Wellsboro or Corning were few and far between if one did not want to have fast food or Chinese food. (You can imagine my culture shock back then when I moved to town from Chicago only to discover that an old trailer served as the home of the Chinese restaurant.) A friend told me, “The best dining you’ll ever experience in Mansfield is at someone else’s home.” She wasn’t kidding! There were the Biddison BBQs (where I cannot believe I never met fellow yogarian monarchmuse), Bernie and Monique’s Beaujolais parties, Peggy and Juergen’s intimate dinners… although not on the Michelin map, I had some amazing fare, thanks to our friends. Hopefully people felt the same about the fare that we served to them.
But there is something so delightful in coming home to eat. The agreement this weekend was that I was supposed to cook Easter dinner at my sister’s house, since my sister was hosting, and Mom was recovering from surgery. Instead, and as usual, Mom took over in the kitchen. Not only did she cook up a seriously delicious dinner of ham, broccoli, sweet potatoes, muffins, and salad, but she also brought two of her amazing desserts, a chocolate-swirl cheesecake, and a chocolate mousse cake that belongs on Iron Chef.
So you can see why I can barely move.
Good food is always a treasure, but when someone makes it for you with love, it’s outright divinity. And God knows, I could definitely stand to indulge in my family’s love right now. They have been so wonderful since I separated from my husband in October. It’s as if I have rediscovered them again for all their gifts and goodness, and our relationships with one another have been reborn, akin to Easter. They are so happy to see me happy. Sometimes I think they are surprised that I’m so happy.
I was not so indulgent with yoga this morning, even though my body was begging me to go deeper into the poses, to hold them longer, to do more. (I’m still hoping I can get more in this evening, once I’ve blogged off some of this belly, haha.) This morning it was my turn to be the chef, and the five young cousins happily ate the bacon and stacks of pancakes I lovingly cooked up for them.
Today was one of those days where I will look back years from now and be so, so grateful. Watching the kids discover their Easter baskets, hiding the eggs as a favor to the Easter bunny, indulging in time with my family… these are the moments when I thank my lucky stars that I am crazy full rather than painfully empty.