When the whole family was home, I enjoyed very much cooking those special holiday meals. I will admit, there was a time or two, I sampled the cooking wine a bit too much. But on the whole no one seemed to complain about my cooking. I remember the first time I cooked something for myself. It was my 8th birthday and we lived on the farm in Livermore Falls. There was no special gas stove or electricity to do any of the mixing. I had asked mother if it was ok for me to cook my own birthday cake. Mother was a great and wise cook. So, for this one time, she bought me a cake mix with the thoughts an 8 year boy could not mess it up too much. The cook stove was one of those big old Atlantic wood stoves. It had that fancy dial on the door. One could regulate the temperature just by what type and how much wood they fed the stove. This would probably be the one and only time I actually read and tried to follow directions. Actually, this was about how I lived my life. I hardly ever read the instructions that came with any equipment. But this time, I tried because it was my first cake and my birthday. I had to show mother I could cook. I read the box and fed the stove to get the temperature just right. Poured all the mixes into a bowl and did just what the directions said to do. Put all of this into the cake pan and carefully put all of this in the oven. I just sat there and watched that tiny dial on the oven door. If It started going down, I just put few more sticks of biscuit wood into the fire box. Not too many, or the temperature would get too hot. Occasionally I would peek in to make sure it wasn’t burning. After a bit, I broke a piece of straw off the broom and tested the cake to see if it was ready. Finally it was ready to come out of the oven. There was one minor problem though. One end of the cake was only about an inch thick and the other end was almost over flowing the pan. But that did not matter, It was my birthday cake and I made it myself. Ever since then, I never followed directions and I would cook whenever mother would let me.
Mother was a great cook. No one could make sour dough biscuits like she did. More than once, I sat there and studied her every move so I could make them myself. But they never tasted like she could make. Growing up, there was one great lesson I learned early on in my young tender years. One never said anything negative whatsoever about mother’s cooking. You never mentioned they were burnt, not right or did not taste quite the same. The rule was “ its on the table, eat or go without “. You definitely never said Aunt Irene’s stew tasted better. The next time there was stew, you may be prompted to go to Aunt Irene’s and eat. The most important thing I learned about cooking, was never try to copy the last cook. Every cook seems to add something different. They may have just added the ingredients at a different time. It is almost impossible to cook anything to be exactly like you remember. I gave up trying to cook sour dough biscuits “like mother used to make”. If you even came close, you still could never copy the cows butter she would put on the top. It was butter she made and had just the right amount of salt in it.
Now, there was a time I cooked for the men in my cabin while logging for Targett and Vaughn back in the 60’s. We were logging on the west side of Elephant Mountain. I was the youngster of the bunch and I did not want to do the dishes. I cooked the best mashed potatoes, gravy and biscuits I could muster up. I even cut red hot dogs up to add to the gravy. There was blueberry muffins after the main meal. The muffins were made from scratch. This little meal earned me the job as cook as long as I worked for Targett and Vaughn. I never tried to cook sour dough biscuits because I did not want to disappoint my dad. They all liked the biscuits and muffins I made and that was good enough. I had even gambled on making the mashed potatoes just a bit differently. They were sold and I was elected “cook of the camp”. Those were great times, and it just instilled in me the desire to cook for my family when I was allowed. I have to say “when allowed”, because I would tend to dirty a lot of dishes. The cook never does the dishes, LOL. Except when living alone. So now, my meals are designed around on how few dishes I use to create my meals. I haven’t lost any weight, so I guess I am doing ok. Two dishes or pots seem to be my normal routine now. Man, I really like the microwave and small toaster oven. I can almost cook a gourmet meal with those. One of my favorites is a delicious Haddock steak with tons of different seasonings. Drowning in good salted butter. But ya Gotta have the seasonings. There will never be two meals the same at this rate. The doctor has suggested I cut down a bit on the butter though. Oh well, as long as I walk a couple of miles before my next check up, I will be fine. Ken White COB mountainman.
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