Incoherent Scribblings

When I was growing up, my dad would frequently and not so nicely tell my mom her cooking couldn’t compare to his mother’s (my grandma’s). When I think back, I recognize that my grandma was a pretty good cook, but then again, my mom isn’t that bad of a cook either. However, my dad is a pretty picky eater and my grandma would always cater to his whims. By contrast, sometimes my mom likes to be adventurous and it was usually when Mom tried to cook us new things or something that Dad didn’t think he would like that he would complain about her cooking.

Therefore, when A. and I first got married, one of my biggest concerns was that he think that I cooked at least as good as his mother. I really didn’t want to spend my life hearing about how good his mother cooked and how badly I compared. Of course, this was before I tasted his mother’s cooking.

After spending my first six weeks in Germany with the in-laws and eating what A. and I jokingly refer to as “Shoe Meat” (because it is as tough as leather) and various other concoctions that were always too greasy and too salty twice a day, I realized that I never had to worry about A. thinking his mother was a better cook than me, because the fact is, she is an awful cook! She was trained to be a cafeteria cook and believe me, that’s what her food tastes like!

I will give her a little credit though. There are some things that she can cook fairly decently and so whenever A. and I go to visit we always request these dishes and the rest of the time make excuses to go out to eat.

A. always claimed that she could make decent “bakeries;” breads, cakes, cookies, etc., and while I admit that they are better than her forays into main dishes, I still find them to be too heavy, too dry, or both. It is always such a pain to smile politely and accept the rolls or cakes that she piles into odd containers and secures with twine before sticking them into our trunk when we are getting ready to go home. Sometimes A. nibbles on these rocks rolls, but more often than not they end up in the trash can once we arrive home.

I had never had any of her cookies, but when A. reported to me the other day she was sending us a package of Christmas cookies, I wondered if they would arrive before trash day, as it would be the most convenient way to get rid of them.

Well, they arrived today: A large assortment of homemade cookies wedged into a container that included a note that said, “In an emergency, the cookies can be eaten with a spoon.” I saw that the majority of the cookies were “Vanille Kipferl” (normally a very tasty German cookie) along with a few other nameless cookies (A. didn’t know what the others were) and as A. gave me one and said with a grin, “Here taste them!,” I wondered what sort of an abomination I would soon be putting into my mouth.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered that they were actually quite tasty!

However, the cookies were jammed packed into the little container that MIL sent us and were quickly being ground into a fine powder. We decided if we didn’t sort the cookies and put them in more than one container soon we actually would need to eat them with a spoon! And so that was our strenuous and terrible task this afternoon; to sort the cookies into containers. Of course, while doing so we ate so many that we are both still zipping around the house with a sugar rush!