My Mother the Cook or How I Learned about Spontaneous Combustion

Mother's Day today and, of course, my thoughts drift to Mom. Born and raised in Switzerland she emigrated to America as an adolescent. When I think of her life, apart from her husband and children, two things made her the most proud: her Swiss heritage and her reputation as a fabulous cook. Among her hobbies she loved collecting cookbooks and recipes of any kind. Enough to fill shelves and sacks, boxes and cartons of them.

At the same time she was both intuitive and inventive with her cooking/baking skills. These additions or subtractions, for the most part, improved whatever she prepared. But sometimes she became a tad too generous in altering a recipe. Here's to you, Mom.



My Mother the Cook or How I Learned about Spontaneous Combustion


Ten minutes into bake time
a faint smell of smoke and telltale
tendrils drifted from the oven door.
A peak inside revealed pure blue
flames wafting over a brandy laced
pound cake. In a mini-whirlwind
she whipped open the window
and fanned the frantic alarm.
Her dessert black as bituminous,
a lush apricot liqueur wasted, guests
due to arrive shortly, and a dumbstruck
child present when she least needed it.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor