I do not like to cook. I’ve only really acknowledged this recently because I feel like I should like to cook. Other people seem to, and I certainly like to eat, so where is the disconnect? For me, I think it’s partly because I have to prepare meals everyday for a somewhat picky crowd. Every darn day.

If I only had to worry about, say, Wednesday dinner each week, I could pour over recipes in preparation and find something that would appeal to everyone. I could sauté, braise, and roast to my heart’s content. But when it’s a daily occurrence, it becomes a chore. And rarely am I solely focused on cooking. Like most moms, I’m often multitasking between homework assistance, settling quarrels, and our constantly ringing phone. Then when the meal is served, there is usually at least one child who is less than enthusiastic about it. Where’s the joy in that?

I even have a beautiful recipe box that my husband made for me for Mother’s Day. My older kids copied over my recipes onto large index cards while my youngest decorated the backs with pictures they printed out from Webshots. Still, nothing.

But I do love to bake. It’s not daily and everyone appreciates the end product. You can’t go wrong with a cookie. So, when I received an e-mail asking if I would prepare something for the teachers at my daughter’s school to eat on conference night, I was happy to comply when I saw that desserts were needed. However, I apparently wasn’t quick enough, because I received an e-mail back saying that desserts were covered but could I please send in a crock-pot of soup.

I responded with a hearty “sure” since I didn’t want to admit my culinary inadequacies to those PTO moms. Nothing against PTO. I’m a member, myself. Just some of those Moms are so bubbly and well, perfect. After I hit the send button, I regretted it. I don’t make soup. I Googled “soup recipes” but they all required so much chopping and dicing and time. I called my neighbor and asked if it was tacky to pour canned soup into my crock-pot and just add some noodles and chicken to make it look homemade.

She responded by saying, “No, um, that’s fine. But I have a really easy soup recipe. You just roast chicken, shred the meat, cut up carrots,” and that’s when my mind started glazing over. I just don’t enjoy cooking. Period. I wish I did.

So, I was debating about what to do about the whole soup thing and I had a brainstorm. One of my very favorite, easiest recipes is called chicken chili. Chili’s close enough, right? So, on conference night I made it, took it to the school, and put this little label on it that said, “Mexican Chicken Soup.” Brilliant.

The very next day, a woman from the PTO called me and told me that she had received multiple e-mails from the teachers and the principal requesting the recipe because my soup was such a hit. She asked if she could have the recipe and would it be okay with me if she forwarded it throughout the school district.

After I yelled, “IN YOUR FACE, PTO!” (inside my head), I agreed. My only hesitation was the recipe is so darn easy. Now the teachers would know that I hadn’t been slaving away all day to create the perfect soup. But, I happily shared it and I’ll share it with you too because even mothers who like to cook need a few easy recipes for those busy days.

Chicken Chili (or Mexican Chicken Soup)

2 cans Great Northern Beans (undrained)
2 cans of canned chicken (undrained)
1 16 oz jar mild salsa
1 package (2 cups) shredded Mexican blend cheese

Mix all together in crock-pot and cook on low 3-4 hours. It is delicious and easy. My kind of recipe.

While I was searching for a soup recipe I came across a few good websites regarding food and children. Nutrition Explorations is a site for kids to check out and learn about nutrition. It has some cute activities and recipes that my 4th grader had fun with. Kids Food is a site that is for parents. It has ideas on how to get your children engaged in cooking and also kid-friendly recipes. And after looking at the Food Network website, it even made a non-chef type like myself feel like putting on my apron.

Bon appetit!

-Kay

Whenever I smell certain spices, I think of my great grandmother.

Big Mama we called her, indeed a large woman whose parents immigrated from Lebanon to South Carolina in the early 1900s, bringing with them the rich food of the Middle East and a passion for cooking it.

I smell turmeric or cumin, and I am transported to Big Mama’s kitchen, a cavernous room that contained not one, but two refrigerators, not one, but two stoves, on top of which always sat two jars wrapped in towels, fermenting into homemade yogurt. The Lebanese call it Laban — a condiment like catsup that adorns every plate of Lebanese fare.

I smell mint and I see Big Mama again, shuffling over to the second oven and with a paddle board on a long handle, pulling out two round, homemade “ pie breads” — what they call pita bread now. Hers were better. They were more flour-y, less processed and big as pizza dough, nothing like the small, factory-made pita breads we buy packaged at the grocery store now.

I smell cloves or allspice and I remember Big Mama’s thin, silver hair slipped into a bun at her nape, her heavy, maternal body contained in a dark silk dress. She is sitting at her kitchen table with her feet shoulder-width apart and solid on the ground, her stockings rolled to just above her black laced shoes. The bottoms of her heavy arms flap as she uses a large wooden pestle to pound allspice into lamb and cracked wheat for the raw meat dish, Kibbeh.

Reviving the Lost Art of Cooking

Remembering the images and smells of Big Mama’s kitchen makes me long for a time when the experience of food was as much about the preparation as it was the eating of it.

And so from time to time I buy all the ingredients – with some modern-day tweaking - for grape leaves. Where Big Mama used lamb and plain white rice, I substitute chopped chick peas, roasted pine nuts and Basmati rice. I throw in chopped mint, dill and parsley - growing tangled in the side yard. I add the other common Mediterranean ingredients - lemon, olive oil, sauteed onion and garlic and a bit of allspice.

I assemble everything on the table. And then I call to my 16-year-old daughter.

“Time to roll!”

Emily never met her great-great grandmother.

She died 10 years before Emily was born.

But Emily, an introspective teenager, already knows that rolling grape leaves with her mother in the kitchen is more than just the act itself.

And so she leaves her text messaging, her IM graphics fun, her CDs, her soccer practices, her relationship intrigue and all that preoccupies a teenager’s life. And she rushes to join her mother, where together, we will make her own memories of allspice and rolling grape leaves in the kitchen.

Here’s how to make grape leaves:

Pinch off a stem. Lay the leaf vein side up. Smooth the leaf with the fingers. Spoon a teaspoon of stuffing mixture onto the leaf near the stem end. Roll the leaf from stem to center. Fold in the sides. Roll to the end.

Place the stuffed rolls next to each other, like sardines, in a large skillet that has been lined with torn leaves to keep the rolls from sticking to the bottom of the pan. Drizzle the grape leaves with more lemon and olive oil. Add water to cover, then lay a plate on top of the rolls, to keep the rolls from unraveling.

Place a small pot or something else heavy on top of the plate, to keep the plate and the rolls in place while they are cooking. Simmer 45 minutes. Remove grape leaves from pan and put in a separate dish. Drizzle more olive oil and lemon over the top. Place grape leaves in refrigerator to chill.

Emily and I always chill our grape leaves. While I have certainly seen grape leaves served warm at Mediterranean-style American restaurants, chilled is how Big Mama always served them.

- Debra-Lynn

P.S. - For a recipe close to the one that Emily and I have tweaked, click here.