I’ve created a BIG problem for myself in a couple of weeks. Our community throughout 2012 has
participated in something we call the “Passport Dining Series”. Each month we have created a unique dining
experience by visiting different parts of the world. Among others we have had Breakfast in Paris,
dined on the varied cuisine of Italy, and celebrated Bosnian cuisine. Bet you didn’t see that one coming now did
you?
The next place that we will visit doesn’t exist in the real
world and that is the problem that I have created for myself. Many who read this blog know that I am a
former chef who realized early in his career that I wasn’t going to be the next
Wolfgang Puck or even a mediocre executive chef. I left the 90 hour work week of food and
beverage when I came to my senses and began a career in the world of senior
housing. But the urge to prepare food
for the masses never really leaves you.
My family will attest to that as does my expanding waistline. So every now and then (it’s usually around
the holidays) I have the hair brain idea that I will cook a meal for the
community and that is what I am doing in two weeks. The place I want to visit doesn’t exist
anymore; it’s mealtime at my mother’s kitchen table located in the house that
she and my father built on Rural Route 2, Saint Mary’s Road, Lebanon, KY 40033 more than 50 years ago.
How can I tell the story of that place in the foods that I prepare? Do I cook the fried chicken that my wife
recalls my Mother lovingly showed her how to make when she was a very new bride
more than 30 years ago or do I make the Sunday Dinner Pork Chops that she made
just like her mother, my Memmaw. I could
make the Cincinnati style chili that was a cold night favorite or my all-time
favorite of beef hash with fried cornpone (who knew she was ahead of her time
frying polenta cakes). I could make the
60’s favorite tuna Noodle Casserole from which I picked out all those little
bits of mushrooms or the other 60’s dish of Macaroni and Cheese made with
Velveeta. I remember orange Jell-O cubes
served as dessert with real whipped cream as much as I remember the chocolate
birthday pies that she made for me each year.
Or the divinity fudge that was a Christmas staple along with the
regional black walnut cake made with black berry jam. I could make her most
famous disasters, the pickled bologna that eventually sat in the refrigerator
until it truly turned green. So many
ways I could get to that special place.
It’s overwhelming to consider it all.
I committed to taking our community to this special place more
than a month ago. It’s only a couple of weeks away and I still am trying to
decide on the perfect menu that will be transport our community to the place
that I called home. What I have to
remember is that just like when we all were growing up, the meal will happen,
the warm hands and hearts of our care giving team will make sure that we get
where we need to be at just the right time, and I will somehow just like my Mom
did each and every day I ate at her table, create a memory for the community
albeit a fleeting one for many.
As I get older and my vision of my life as a senior become clearer,
I see how those little journeys that we have taken this year really are
important to our community. If even for
a brief moment a special smell or taste or atmosphere provokes a memory, it’s a
good thing.
Contributing author Steven Mattingly is the Executive Director of Pacifica Senior Living in San Leandro, CA.
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