Open Writing

My daughter used to say, 'never eat at a place called Mom's.' Her children would look at her with wonder and question in their eyes.

'Why not?' Said young Emma, 'I like grandmother's cooking. It's not hot and spicy like yours.'

'Well I like Mom's cooking,' said James, in defence of his mother.

My daughter, a mom of five, now owns a restaurant attached to a motel. The motel specialises in corporate clientele and she is presented with the challenge to cook a good old-fashioned meal.

'I miss home cooking,' says Fred. 'I'm on the road so much, eventually all the meals taste the same. Parma, spag bol, ploughman's pie, fish and chips and mixed grill. I used to have a system where I alternated my order.'

'You sound easy to please,' says Ruby. 'If those dishes are what you prefer, I'll cook for you any day.' Ruby turns back to her task when Fred poses the question.

'Ah,' he says. 'But can you cook the old fashioned dishes that my mother used to make?'

'Like what?' Ruby has a hint of annoyance in her voice. Questioning her cooking skills, she thinks.

'Steak and kidney pie with dumplings floating on top. Lambs fry and bacon, tripe, rabbit stew ...' Fred's voice trails off and he's fairly drooling.

'Yuk!' Ruby has a horrified look on her face. 'We grew up with a saying in our family—never eat at a place called mom's.'

'That's terrible,' says Fred. 'The best cooking in the world comes from Mom's kitchen.'

'Not my Mom's,' says Ruby. 'And she was better than her Mom.'

'Well, me and the boys want some fair dinkum home style tucker on our next trip or we're changing motels,' Fred delivers his ultimatum with a resounding thrust of his chin. . . .

My daughter rang last week to ask for my braised rabbit recipe. You could have knocked me over with a feather. This request was quickly followed by 'How do you cook lambs fry and bacon?'

'I thought you hated those dishes. You used to pull such horrid faces when you were living at home.'

'I do, says Ruby. 'But the regular corporate boys reckon what I dish out is boring and too up market. They want some good old fashioned meals.'

'My recipes are pretty simple meals and easy to prepare. What about dessert? Do you want some old favourites there too?'

'Might as well go the whole hog,' says Ruby. 'I hope my reputation doesn't suffer. I've built up quite a gourmet selection of specialties.'

'Perhaps you could add a new dimension by giving your menus an update and include a selection of Meals from Mom's Larder. That way you'll retain the dishes you've worked so hard to perfect, and have my recipes as an addition and a bit of fun.'

'Thanks Mum, they also want steak pie and dumplings and of all things, tripe, yuk!'

'I'll go through my recipe books and copy them out for you, as well as some puddings. It'll give me a chance to try out the new computer.' . . .

Three weeks later, Fred and his colleagues check into the motel and ask for the room service menu. Fred can hardly believe what he's reading. He runs his eye over the familiar page until he catches the words in that attention-grabbing box Meals from Mom's Larder.

'Gee, listen to this boys,' he says as he begins to outline the family favourites he'd grown up with. 'And there's also a list of puddings. Gee, thanks Ruby. You've won me.'

'Me too,' says Dave. Their three companions nod in agreement.

'My mother came up with the recipes and the graphics for the menu,' says Ruby.

'Well, you can thank your mother from us,' says Fred. 'When we stay here in future, we'll be able to say it's truly a home away from home.'

'You haven't tasted a morsel yet,' says Ruby.

'But I'm betting you're cluey enough to have your mother helping in the kitchen.'

Ruby smiles as she takes their completed menu sheets from them. They know her better than she thought. She watches them walk back to their motel to unpack, knowing they'll be back within the hour, seated in her dining room, forks in the air.

Five orders of tripe followed by rhubarb and apple custard.

She wonders if she'll be able to hide her revulsion as she serves their evening meal.

© Carmel Fitzgerald

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Carmel writes for Bonzer! magazine. Please visit www.bonzer.org.au