My mother’s cooking has always played a central part in our family’s life. I bet you can say the same of your mother’s cooking too. Even if they are not the best or greatest cooks, their kitchen exploits are always impactful. Living abroad and going home to eat was one of the highlights of a trip to Guyana to me. Mommy always wanted to know what I wanted to have for my first meal back home, and each morning, she’d ask what to cook that day for me. It’s been over 3 years now since I have last tasted food cooked by my mother and I probably never will again. Sure, I will taste the influence but not food prepared and cooked by her directly, with her own hands.
I shared with you back in 2016 how arthritis had changed my mother’s hands and restricted the various tasks associated with cooking. Well, since then, life has changed even more – for mom and the family. A stroke has left her with not only with further weakened hands, but also a weakened body. As Mother’s Day approaches, I cannot help but mourn for my mother’s food that I would never taste again – her Cook-up Rice, cooked perfectly with each grain discernable and glistening with the reduced coconut milk in which it has been cooked. The Fried Rice that she would insist that she measures the water to rice ratio herself and steam, knowing exactly the volume of low heat to give to the covered pot. The cooled rice then tossed with a deft spicing combination of ginger, garlic, hot peppers, five-spice powder and soy sauce; thinly sliced bora and finely diced carrots, the only other additions.
