I’ve missed writing here. Where did May go? Mother’s day already came and left. I used to resent my dad’s insistence that I call other family members on mother’s day. This year it was nice to do though. I even called some new mothers bonafide mama bears. When I was a teenager, I spent most of the day with my friend’s mothers. Sometimes I slept over on school nights. They let me sit on their stoops until late into the night. I felt like a cub they would paw and lick over, making sure the blood was gone and I was prepared for the wild again. I’m forever grateful to them.
My mom loved to cook and take photographs of the things she made. She’d bring popovers down to the bay and take photographs of them in high grass. Her recipe cards were like small still lifes.
I know that she instilled that value of presentation in the way I prepare and serve food now. A food’s presentation should never be so perfect that you can’t approach it with a sense of comfort and familiarity though. I don’t want cold china. I want meals to ease recollection. If food is memory than presentation is the silhouette of experience.