Before mom lost her sight, and couldn’t cook – she critically watched to make sure I made the eggs properly – low and slow

Mom wasn’t eating. She was batty, not always oriented to time or place, but she wasn’t eating. The place thought she was just obstinate – or that her appetite loss was a manifestation of her disease – whatever that might be.

When I arrived at the “memory care center,” I asked her why she wasn’t eating . “The food is terrible. Its bland, they don’t know how to season.”

There it was – my mom, her brain might be a bit batty, but her taste was spot on. So I tasted her food – and she was right. She had lost twenty pounds on a couple of weeks, and at 87 you just can’t do that, besides what else was happening to her, she needed some strength.

Mom raised a cook. She taught me taste, flavor, combinations. It wasn’t easy- because growing up in Ketchikan, Alaska you didn’t have a lot of fresh food. The food we had was amazing – salmon, halibut, red snapper – all just a fishing pole away. We had seasonal wild berries, some planted rhubarb, and raspberries – but our vegetables came in a can. This was Alaska in the 1960’s – it wasn’t until later we were able to enjoy frozen vegetables.

But from that fare mom raised a cook. The salt shaker was not spared – she taught me that seasoning isn’t over salting, and that you can’t make up for a lack of seasoning with a salt shaker once the meal was cooked. She taught me that one note dishes are boring, and even if you have cans you can add spice to bring alive tastes. In this remote place of the world – where we had one tv station that started broadcasting at 5 pm and aired two day old NBC news reports – mom taught me about curries.

I went back to my dad’s house and made her a small meal, something simple – a hamburger- but it was a good burger, and some salad that popped with flavors. Not too much, she had not eaten much in several weeks. Mom devoured it.

That meal began mom’s recovery. I told my dad to bring her a burger sometimes from Wendy’s – and other foods. He did. Mom was able to come home. Good cooking- without it mom would have not eaten, she would have declined, and not come back.

So when I look at my son, in the kitchen I realize – I have to teach him to cook. Someday he may return the favor. And at least I can keep him from the bland world of institutional cooking that prevails in America.