Food

Last night

Mom, matter-of-factly: Why is your stomach so big?
A.: [Shrug]

***
I could go on about food and my family. I've blogged about how mom likes to announce that she's not hungry and talk about how little she eats, but I want to return to food, not people's issues with food.

Mom rolls her eyes at dad's Sunday morning herring-and-potatoes ritual. I eat neither herring or (non-sweet) potatoes, unless tehy're deep fried, so I don't partake in it, but I see no harm in letting dad enjoy his tradition. I think it particularly annoys mom because it falls into the category of things dad learned as a child and can't seem to get over, like his dislike of oatmeal. She sees it as a continuation of his stubbornness and inflexibility, much like his resistance to online bill pay.

I'm not going to tell other people how to have their food, but I do ask that they let me have mine whichever way I like, which is often not how my parents think it should be. No, I do not want sour cream in my mushroom soup. I know that every other Russian has sour cream in their soup but I've never liked sour cream in mine so let it go. And when I'm cooking something, don't salt it for me, don't add anything, just let me do my thing.

So I set some peppers to heat in a skillet and went to read the paper. I reemerge to find them swimming in butter. I know he means well, but I have to ask WTF.

A.: WTF??
Dad: There was no butter.
A.: There was some-- it's a nonstick skillet and now my food is drowning.
Dad: You know, the vitamins in orange vegetables need fat for absorption.
A.: There's fat in cheese, which is also going to go in there, and there's fat in the eggs that I'm going to put in there too. I don't like my vegetables drowning.
Dad: There's fat in eggs?
A.: [Rolling my eyes]
Dad: It would have burned.
A.: No, it would not have burned.

And we've been over this. That's what frustrates me. Just leave my food alone.

***
Dad: What did you want the potato stock for?
Mom: For A.'s mushroom soup, and for our soup if there's any left over.
A.: You can take it all, I don't need the stock.
Mom: The soup will be like a porridge.
A.: I like thick soup.
Mom: Traditionmally, pertatro stock...
A.: MOM!
Mom: What?
A.: Chew first, then talk.
Mom: What, could you not understand me?
A.: Understanding is not the issue.
Mom: By the time I'd have finished chewing, there would have been nothing to say. Table conversation moves fast, you have to keep up.