Stay out of mama’s kitchen

Since mama passed away, I became the chief cook in mama’s kitchen and my sister took on the task of loyal dish washer. Mama didn’t want any one of the male genders touching her pots and pans, or dishes for that matter. When she died, by no choice of my own, I became king of our cook stove. Fast food gets old in a hurry, so I experimented with cooking fresh vegetables, tender cuts of pork and beef, and the everything-in-one stovetop pot of soup. To be truthful, I have not mastered the art of duplicating mama’s buttermilk biscuits. So much love and pride went into each batch, but I’m still trying. Someone asked me if I did any exercising since I started cooking on my own and I always reply in a sincere voice, “I’ve got exceptionally good at weightlifting with spoons and forks filled with mouthwatering, soul satisfying food.”

Throughout history, we’ve been taught what is a man’s job or woman’s. Little-by-little, roles have been reversed to suit society’s needs, and it is successful news. Women are now working in law enforcement, driving eighteen-wheelers, and window washing on New York’s tallest skyscrapers, while many men are hairdressers and make-up artists, while assuming little league coaching on the side. Mama, you’re turning over in your grave just knowing you had a great chef and cook right under your nose.

‘);