Friends, grandmother inspire cooking
Friends, grandmother inspire cooking
I grew up standing by my grandmother's side in the kitchen. An Italian immigrant, my grandmother is and was the best cook I've ever known. Whenever we visited her, we'd find her in the kitchen, apron tied around her waist, hovering over a towering silver pot bubbling with her tomato sauce.
You could smell the fresh tomatoes and herbs the second you opened the screen door. After she died, I could still smell that familiar scent when I walked into her home.
Everything she made was homemade. She was famous for her tomato sauce and her pasta, particularly her homemade ravioli stuffed with spinach and her cappelletti that she served in her own chicken broth.
As early as kindergarten, I would stand next to her and watch her roll out fresh, homemade dough with her wooden rolling pin. I marveled at her swiftness with a rolling pin and the way she hand-cut her pasta.
When she rolled dough, she would make me my own mound to roll with her. Side-by-side at her kitchen table, I'd mimic her movements while sneaking in a few bites of dough that felt cold like clay on my tongue. She'd taste along the way, too, raising a wooden spoon of tomato sauce to her mouth, moaning with delight as she'd say, "Oooh, it's so good."
I loved those moments together in the kitchen and the feeling that I was creating something beautiful, something that people would later eat and smile with satisfaction.
This is where my love of food and cooking started.
By fourth or fifth grade, I was in the kitchen unsupervised, making my own double-layer cakes. They weren't the prettiest things in the world. They were often lopsided, resembling the leaning Tower of Pisa. I'd get impatient and ice them too soon, only to watch the icing melt into a translucent glaze. Or I'd press too hard and end up spreading little cake crumbs in the frosting.
But I learned from my grandmother to never give up. Dump the burnt cookies in the trash, say a few curses in Italian and move on.
I was a baker and never really into cooking "real meals." I would rather eat a slice of cake than a slice of steak. When I was single, my cooking skills were mediocre. I ate Kraft macaroni and cheese and made some simple meals from a few recipe cards my mom sent me. But I never regarded myself as a cook.
That all changed when I met my friend Miriam, an excellent cook who was confident in the kitchen and taught me that cooking is fun.
Every Wednesday night we cooked a three-course meal together from our staples: "Cooking Light," "Vegetarian Times," and Martha Stewart.
While we chopped and prepped, we discussed love, relationships and life's ups and downs. I learned that some of the best conversations happen over mincing garlic.
When I moved to North Carolina, I wanted to continue that experience. So almost two years ago, I started a supper club with some of my favorite ladies (and foodies).
Every month, one of us volunteers to host, we pick a theme and each create a dish. When I first broached the idea with my friend Woodie, she was hesitant and intimidated. She did little cooking and the idea of preparing food for others scared her. But I convinced her that we were all learning, and I really wanted our supper club to boost our confidence in the kitchen and to create a safe, supportive environment that would inspire each of us.
Nearly two years later, we are all better cooks. Supper club has given us the confidence to try. Tina made her first cake from scratch and spent an entire afternoon hand-grating veggies for a mock meatloaf (She bought a food processor after that.).
Woodie made Indian flat bread stuffed with potatoes, and nearly had a break down in the kitchen during her first trial run of the recipe, with her husband in the next room wondering if he should help or bolt.
Miriam conquered her first Ethiopian doro wat, a somewhat complicated stew that required a ton of spices and techniques she's never used before.
I ventured into making bread, as well as pies with homemade crusts, for the first time. My first gooey lemon meringue went straight in the garbage. I failed. I cried. But I did as my grandmother would: I dusted off my floured hands, and I tried again. The second time was a success.
And this month for our French theme, I tackled my first spinach and cheese quiche with a homemade crust and chocolate mousse for dessert, with surprisingly no kitchen disasters, no break downs, no tears. My grandmother would be proud.
Supper Club and the beautiful women whom I share a meal with every month have changed my life. Now, I'm not afraid to try.
And not only that, but I really cherish the evenings when we pause from our busy lives to gather around the table for a meal together, a meal that we each put our hearts and souls into making. There's something very special, very comforting about that.
Now that I'm a better cook, I wish I could share a meal with my grandmother -- show her how much my culinary skills have grown. Sometimes I like to imagine that she's in the next room, seated at the dinner table, waiting for me to present my newest success in the kitchen. I think maybe I'd make her a veggie lasagna followed by rich, dense chocolate mousse. She'd lift her fork to her mouth, close her eyes and moan with delight the way she always did.
And then, still smiling, she'd look at me and say, "Oooh, it's so good."
Contact Carla Kucinski Seward at 373-7319 or carla@gotriad.com.
Woodie Anderson (left), Tina Firesheets, Miriam Biber and Katie
Woodie Anderson (left), Tina Firesheets, Miriam Biber and Katie Reetz get ready to enjoy their monthly supper club meal.
