My mom was a born competitor, and proof is in this cornbread story. (The other corroborating evidence is in my Six Simple Words That Can End Your Life post, where I narrowly escaped death by paring knife.)
Moist, delicious, buttered cornbread.
I didn’t cook much when I was young and single, so competition was never a problem. I ate a lot of salads, baked potatoes and macaroni salads because they were cheap and I was poor. But, once I was married and in my 30s, I started entertaining more, so I wanted to re-create dishes my mom used to make, especially her cornbread.
It was golden, sweet, moist and delicious, and I was desperate to have some one day, so I called and asked her for her recipe. “Oh Frenzy,” she said, “Dattsa nading. You justta follow da recipe onna da box. Dats alla.”
The corrected version of the cornbread recipe.
So, I got the Albers Corn meal out and followed the recipe on the box and it tasted nothing like my moms. What the hell? I thought and went right to the phone. “Ma, you said to follow the recipe on the box and it would be just like yours, but it didn’t taste like yours at all!
She laughed at my irritation, chuckling, “Wella honey, you gadda add a lilla more sugar anna a lilla more oil, den ittsa good” she said, not grasping that I’d just wasted time, ingredients, and a lot of drool looking forward to her delicious cornbread. I doubt that her omission was intentional, but the chuckle over the fact that what I’d made wasn’t as good as hers, carried the glee of a woman who knew she was still the best cook in the family.
I may have had to deal with a batch of cornbread that was not as good as my mother’s, but I won’t put you through that, so I’m happily passing on this tidbit of knowledge.
Frankenbook
That corrected recipe is still in the dilapidated cook book I put together years ago. The book has seen a lot of baking and now looks like Frankenbook. but I like it because it reminds me of my mom’s well worn recipes, yellowed with age, dotted with batter, a lot of love and a little bit of Neapolitan competition.
She’s been gone 24 years, as of yesterday, March 3rd. And, although she kind of liked being top chef in the kitchen, I know she won’t mind me sharing her cornbread recipe — as long as you give her credit.
Mama Tunno’s Sweet Cornbread
[cooked-recipe id=”19217″]
6 Comments
Nicol
March 6, 2016 at 9:31 amFran! That frankenbook is a most prized possession! And you are just like your mom. I have heard you say that you follow recipes and then add a “lilla dis” and a “lilla dat” so that it tastes like only you can make it 🙂 You mom would be so proud!
lafriday
March 6, 2016 at 1:21 amSounds good, Fran. My mother never withheld ingredients, but her “directions” went something like; “And then you use a palmful of parsley, and a glop of ricotta.” I never thought about the nebulous nature of her instructions as COMPETITION, but you’ve given me food for thought–or rather, cornbread for thought.
Wish I could join you and Doris for that pizza. And LORD, I still dream about the basket of tomatoes that Doris gifted me one summer from her garden. Miss you girls.
Petrea Burchard
March 4, 2016 at 8:18 amI’m going to try it. I’ve got a Frankenbook, too, yet I’ve never achieved the macaroni & cheese greatness my mother did.
Fran Tunno
March 4, 2016 at 9:58 amKeep trying Petrea, I know you can do it. And thanks for reading and taking the time to comment!
Doris Olga Kouyias
March 4, 2016 at 8:06 amFrannie, I love that woman.Thank God !
The lights of Italy shone bright when these amazing parents came together. Then they cre a ted you..with the gift not only to express her words (like she wassa talking to you now) but that you can share her recipes and wisdom. My gifted Lady,
Fran Tunno
March 4, 2016 at 9:57 amAwww, love you Doris! I think we need to schedule a date for pizza soon. I will call.