When my mother was very young, she had a toy oven, “the real thing,” she said, not one of those Easy-Bake things with the puny little light bulb. It actually did get hot enough to cook actual food, and as an adult she marveled that such a thing was ever sold for use by children. It was a simpler time.
Nevertheless, being the careful and responsible sort of kid that she was, she did successfully cook with it, and she told me years ago how the first dish she ever cooked in her life, in that little oven, was sliced potatoes in butter.
So last night I made that for her with the last of the volunteer potatoes from her garden. No butter this time, but a little olive oil, some garlic powder and dill, a shake of salt, and 45 minutes or so in a 375° oven were all that were needed to make them divine. They were every good thing she ever remembered about food. She told me “oh, I made these as a kid …” and I said “yes, I know, that’s why I made them for you.” She was touched that I remembered.
Are you kidding? Of course I remembered. Some food memories, even those made by other people, stay with you for life.
Love you, mama.