My Mother's Table

I was hanging around the meat case the other day, thinking about how much cheaper it would be to convert to veganism. A pleasant interruption from a mom and child duo reminded me I had meat to buy for dinner that night. I assessed the case as a purveyor of diamonds would do, finally latching onto a package of london broil chops with which to make fajitas. I would brush them with cumin, sea salt, cracked pepper, and garlic, with a few lime squeezes for acid.

But for now, my attention had been forced back to the mom and her child. She was standing at the foot of my cart, wielding a very small beef roast, apparently distressed about how to cook it. It was then that she asked me point-blank: “Do you know how to cook a roast?” Did she know I was Kaukab’s flesh-and-blood? I decided to give her a pass and delightfully offered her a resounding “Yes!”

While I did offer her some main recipe tips, I found myself walking about the aisles clicking off all the ingredients I couldn’t remember using in my own roast making. Like the wine. THE WINE! I thought about running after her, but I didn’t want to pose an artificial threat to the poor child, so I headed to the dairy aisle, instead.

Which is where I go when I’m not a vegan.

Last week, violin girl and drummer boy left for Music City. They’re sharing a house. Which means, no cafeteria food. Think of it as both a blessing and a curse. The blessing, we can all concur, is self-explainable. The curse, well, that requires a few words:

Since there’s a kitchen encased within the house, their meals will come by way of this room. Kaukab’s daughter is quite familiar with this room, and to a certain extent, the two musicians are, as well. But, extent can only take you so far.

So, suffice to say, Kaukab’s daughter played Kaukab (a most unenviable task) and fired rounds of recipes, eventually overwhelming the nymph cooks. Unlike Kaukab, her daughter realized the immensity of said actions and instilled a cease fire. But, like any good Middle Eastern (country), “cease” is a very loose term. Later that night, Kaukab’s daughter began channeling the master and another round of recipes were hurled via email. Beset with lines of edits, with a particular focus on tubed tomato paste usage, violin girl decided to part ways with the master and her daughter.

She sized up the eggplant-onion-garlic saute and nixed the tubed paste (once it became apparent that it wasn’t working as ordered), instead substituting it with a jar of spaghetti sauce. A mere mention of using fresh summer tomatoes with a pinch of sugar and some lemon zest was offered and accepted for future sauce making. 

As for drummer boy, it’s gonna be sausage and eggs. All day, everyday. Oh, and Belvita wafers.

Kaukab would be so prou…disappointed.