tastes like chicken

There are two bestselling books on the market that are all about lying to your children about food. It seems that the Depression-Era generation aren't the only ones trying to coerce their children into eating distasteful things like mushrooms and spinach. Now 20-something Moms of the new millennium are jumping on the bandwagon.

But I think our Mother definitely cornered the market on fibbing about food. After all, here's a woman that knows how to make several hundred dishes that start with the word creamed -- creamed chipped beef, creamed eggs, creamed chicken, creamed spinach -- you name it, Mom could make a sauce to camouflage it. Also, anything in the shape of a long rectangle that was browned on the outside was immediately dubbed a "french fry." Crab cakes carefully shaped to resemble small Lincoln Logs; parsnips whittled in a suspicious way; fish sticks cut in half to look less like fish sticks -- all were presented as "special french fries" in our house. Some of this has even happened in our adult-hood. We all remember the famous "vegetarian" chili a few years back. Though to be fair, I think the meat-eaters pressured Mom into adding the meat and then lying about it. So we'll let her off the hook this one time.

Mom was (and is) an adventurous cook, often by necessity when resources are short. Returning from the supermarket she might exclaim "Look! Oxtails were on sale!" Now I know that oxtail stew is considered a delicacy in France or Italy or Afghanistan or wherever, but for a 12-year-old in southeastern Massachusetts, it mostly looks like a bowl of bones floating in dish-water. Sorry Mom.

But even Mom will admit when her cooking adventures have gone seriously astray. When I was in high school and a vegetarian, Mom tried her best to incorporate new foods into my diet, many of them recommended by the wacky 1970s hippy cookbooks I got at the library. My poor carnivorous brother was subjected to soy burgers and yogurt and vegetable platters. One summer afternoon after school Mom suggested that we go out in the yard and pick the biggest dandelion greens we could find, and she'd cook up a pot of them for supper. We happily complied (or I did anyway -- Tom was probably swearing a lot under his breath), and Mom cooked them with her usual enthusiasm. We all sat down, dug in....and promptly spit them out. They were bitter, tough, and completely in-edible, even to our Depression-era Mom. Turns out that you're supposed to pick dandelion greens in the early spring, when they're young and tender and sweet. Who knew?

Despite all of the above, food plays a hugely important role in the life of our family. Whenever we're together, we gather around the table to celebrate our love for one another. It's not the food itself that matters but the planning and preparation and cooking and finally the eating together. Whole books have been written on this subject. All I know is that we've had some wonderful meals over the years, full of fun and laughter, thanks to Mom and the love that went into making them.

Submitted by Lucy.