Narrative Essay
Narrative essay
Cooking with my mother
Some of my fondest childhood memories have been shared cooking with my mother in our small kitchen. Coming from a big family it was always important that there was enough food and food that everybody liked. My mother knew every ones favorite dishes and things that we didn’t like. She is an amazing cook and always had me help especially with holiday dinners one in particular always sticks out in my flood of memories. It was thanksgiving and I was eleven my mother woke me up at seven in the morning and told me I had to help her cook. She never did this before I used to wake up later and maybe cut a few carrots and celery for the stuffing she would make on the stove this was different. I complained like a bratty preteen and asked why I was waking up and she told me that I had to learn to cook one day and why not on thanksgiving. Forcing my self down the staircase into the kitchen and sitting on one of the many stools surrounding the island. She pulled out the twenty-eight pound turkey and rinsed it off and pulled all the giblets out. I remember trying not to grimace because my mother was one to tease you about those types of things. I started cutting up the carrots and celery while my mom got the breadcrumbs and cranberries. I’d occasionally ask why don’t you measure anything and it was always the same answer “because I know by eyeballing it”. Next she had me stuff this bread crumby mush into the turkey. Then Covered him in butter, salt, and lemon pepper and it was ready to go into the oven. She smiled and said I did a great job. The rest of the stuff was easy squash, potatoes, corn, and green beans.
That day I found a new respect for my mom and cooking. She always made every ones plate knowing the portions and dishes we all would want. Now I always help her with the cooking for every occasion and have even tweaked some of he recipes to put my own spin on them. I cant wait for the day that I make my mother a
Cooking with my mother
Some of my fondest childhood memories have been shared cooking with my mother in our small kitchen. Coming from a big family it was always important that there was enough food and food that everybody liked. My mother knew every ones favorite dishes and things that we didn’t like. She is an amazing cook and always had me help especially with holiday dinners one in particular always sticks out in my flood of memories. It was thanksgiving and I was eleven my mother woke me up at seven in the morning and told me I had to help her cook. She never did this before I used to wake up later and maybe cut a few carrots and celery for the stuffing she would make on the stove this was different. I complained like a bratty preteen and asked why I was waking up and she told me that I had to learn to cook one day and why not on thanksgiving. Forcing my self down the staircase into the kitchen and sitting on one of the many stools surrounding the island. She pulled out the twenty-eight pound turkey and rinsed it off and pulled all the giblets out. I remember trying not to grimace because my mother was one to tease you about those types of things. I started cutting up the carrots and celery while my mom got the breadcrumbs and cranberries. I’d occasionally ask why don’t you measure anything and it was always the same answer “because I know by eyeballing it”. Next she had me stuff this bread crumby mush into the turkey. Then Covered him in butter, salt, and lemon pepper and it was ready to go into the oven. She smiled and said I did a great job. The rest of the stuff was easy squash, potatoes, corn, and green beans.
That day I found a new respect for my mom and cooking. She always made every ones plate knowing the portions and dishes we all would want. Now I always help her with the cooking for every occasion and have even tweaked some of he recipes to put my own spin on them. I cant wait for the day that I make my mother a