The simplicity of good food

I just returned from my monthly book club meeting. The group is comprised of mostly older members of the progressive church I attend. The meetings are held in a home that could be described as upper middle-class. I have not seen the whole house but the kitchen is adorned with features that working class people like myself only dream about: stained concrete floors, custom wood cabinets, granite countertops, and a stove with more burners than I would know what to do with. The hostess is gracious enough to serve us dinner at each gathering. The food, although simple, always seems to match the elegance of the house. Tonight's meal was no exception.

The main course was a pasta dish made from organic ingredients bought from the local farmer's market. The orecchiette pasta was mixed with heirloom tomatoes, garlic, basil, thyme, olive oil and served at room temperature. Don't let the modest ingredients fool you. This dish was fantastic. Because the ingredients were locally and organically grown they tasted more like themselves, especially the tomatoes. Unlike the flavorless varieties you find in the supermarket, these tomatoes actually tasted like tomatoes. The fresh herbs perked up the dish in ways their dried cousins could never do. And the garlic. The first thing I noticed as I leaned over the bowl to scoop a large helping onto my plate was the aroma of garlic wafting up to my nostrils. Heaven.

My favorite dish was the salad. Arugula and baby spinach leaves mixed together with roasted corn, avocado, roasted parsnips and pine nuts. The whole thing was tossed with a homemade dressing so light and so unassuming that, if not for the almost empty container sitting next to the salad bowl, I would never have guessed it was part of the dish . The simple dressing allowed the main ingredients to take center stage. The creaminess of the avocado, the sweetness of the roasted corn and parsnips, and the nuttiness of the pignolis were a perfect combination of tastes and textures. I went back for more only to find the salad was all gone. I was going to lick the bowl to show my appreciation for such a well-prepared meal, but I decided that probably wouldn't go over too well. I thanked the hostess instead.

A Tribute to Mama Lucy (1938-2008)

It was not long after I met you and your daughter, Julie, that I felt compelled to call you Mom. Of course, I had my own mother, a quite wonderful woman, but there was something about your loving and nurturing care of everyone that crossed your path that made me want to address you in the most intimate manner possible. And you were very much like a mom to me. You treated me as one of your own when you invited me to share your home with you and your daughter while I got back on my feet financially. The experience is something I won't soon forget.

Despite your great ability to nurture, your biggest legacy will be your unwavering faith. You trusted God at a level that most of us can only aspire to. Your faith saw you through as you raised 4 children on your own while your husband, Jim, was in Vietnam. Your unflinching trust in God helped you cope as you watched your relationship with your husband deteriorate into something unrecognizable. You reaped the fruits of your faith when your marriage rose up again from the ashes and became something better than it was before. Because God had been there for you in all those difficult times, you were able to seek His comfort after Jim's untimely death, believing that God would use even this situation for good. You leaned on God once more as you succumbed to the cruelties of lung cancer. In spite of the grim diagnosis, you remained at peace, and you managed to hang on to that peace throughout the entire ordeal. In your mind, if God healed you, allowing you more time to spend with your family, that was great. If you died and were able to rejoin Jim in Heaven, well that was okay too. As far as you could see, it was a win-win situation.

As admirable as your faith was, it sometimes left you rigid in your beliefs. I remember the time when I returned from a God and Politics seminar at a local Methodist church and you told me I had to be careful with the Methodists because some of them believed in ordaining homosexuals, a warning I considered ironic since you often accepted ministry from your daughter, a lesbian. We went on to discuss abortion and how you believed this was the most important issue to God (even though the Bible says no such thing). When I tried to suggest that there are other issues that also garner God's attention, you would hear nothing of it. I cried after our conversation because you were unwilling to even listen to other viewpoints, to my viewpoint. I felt as if a part of me was being rejected that day. This was the only time your beliefs caused me any negative feelings. Mostly, I found your old-school approach endearing.

Religious inflexibility notwithstanding, your legacy of faith will not be replaced anytime soon. Those of us who are left behind need more time to work up to where you are. And even then, I suppose we'll only be shadows of what you represented. But rest assured, we're trudging along in the example you set for us. Some of us may be going in paths that are foreign to you, paths that might offend your conservative sensibilities, but I promise you that we are reaching for the same goal, that we'll all end up in the same place, partying at the same eternal party.

Rest in peace, Mama Lucy. We'll see you soon.