Michele V. S.
When it comes to people who’ve had a key role in developing my relationship to food and culinary skills, my mom is firmly number one on the list. While her culinary journey hasn’t been one that most would attribute to that of a chef, in my humble and biased opinion her curiosity and passion for food is noteworthy. As is her labor in building, feeding, and nurturing a large family for thirty+ years and counting.
This is my mom, Michele V.S.
My mom grew up in Baltimore, Maryland during the 60s and 70s as one of two children to a single mother (my fiery and loving grandma). For a time her mother was working and going to school, therefore my mom picked up most of her cooking skills from other women and men in her family who would babysit her and her little brother (my uncle) while their mother worked.
Under the tutelage of family and relatives she recalls learning how to cook dishes like her Aunt Glenda’s “mock chili” and scrambled eggs with hot dogs. Being an independent and confident baby Aries, my mom would also attempt to prepare some of these and other dishes for herself and her brother when they were home alone.
One of the main people who cared for my mom was her Grandma King, who she describes as having been the best cook in the family:
“She made everything. Syrup, wine, rolls, she made everything. Did it all from scratch and in a matter of minutes. It looked effortless. When my grandmother used to make things, before she moved from her big house she had an abundance of food. She had a lot of things in that house and it was just there. The comfortable presence of love. Anything she gave, it was always simple.”
Grandma King’s simple, resourceful, and loving way of cooking would show up as a major influence in my mom’s style of cooking later in her adult life when she started a family. Before that my mom’s experience with cooking was pretty limited, however as a young adult she did have some pretty quirky food jobs.
During a summer youth employment program she worked at the McCormick & Company warehouse which my mom remembers “smelling like every spice, all at once, but you’d get use to it”.
Later she would work at the Downtown Harbor’s Fudgery where fudge makers would prepare fudge in front of a live audience while singing. With my mom’s background training in classical soprano singing, I’m sure she exercised those skills and I like to imagine her being as lively as the teenagers in this video.
Above: My mom with her brother and Grandma Baylor. I don’t have a photo of Grandma King and remember meeting her maybe once. But both Grandma’s were important figures in my mom’s life.
“Your grandmother raised us to try things, she was adamant that when you go other people’s houses you have to try it. It’s not just my culture. You understand people when you understand what they eat.”
Above: Mom and her sister Monica and cousin Katrina. Photo from my grandma. 1987.
Above: Mom and Dad with my older siblings and her Uncle John. Photo from my grandma, pictured in the center. 1992.
As a stay-at-home mom to eight kids (although now three), my mom has always been extremely resourceful when it comes to not only feeding our stomachs but also our curiosity around food. When I became interested in learning Italian, she and my dad got me a cookbook on Italian food which had us making tiramisu, pizza, gnocchi, and frittelle on a semi-regular basis.
With mascarpone cheese not really being a thing in the Baltimore City supermarket we frequented (the Santoni’s in Highlandtown), we used cream cheese for tiramisu. My mom also went as far as to bug the store manager about ordering lady fingers until they finally showed up on the shelves one day. She also decided she was going to make me a cassata cake for my 11th or 12th birthday, and learned how to make all of the candied fruit for the decorations herself.
Above: One of our rare family photos taken on Eastern Avenue in Highlandtown. Photo from my grandma. 2001 or 2002.
Similarly, when my older brother began studying Japanese he, along with the rest of us siblings, wanted to make yakitori, yakisoba, gyozas, and other dishes. My mom did her best to get the ingredients to make these recipes, but she also taught us the art of improvisation when ingredients weren’t accessible to us. All that to say, whether our family was good financially or not, my mom was always excited and determined to try new cuisines, ingredients, techniques, and recipes.
My mom has never been afraid to try new dishes and desserts even if there’s a risk of them failing. Although split pea soup became notorious in our family, crab and shrimp egg rolls were a successful banger. She’d write down ideas and observations, scrapped recipes that didn’t work, and tried to keep track of the ones that did. I remember my mom having tons of black binders filled with recipe clippings from magazines, notes, and recipes she transcribed from PBS tv shows when we couldn’t get the cookbooks.
Above: Second rare family photo taken at a family friend’s house. Note the little goofball hanging out in the steps. 2008
Growing up seeing my mom cook and learn in this way has had an immeasurable influence on me, which I didn’t recognize until I was in culinary school.
During my culinary improvisation course one of my chef instructors had us writing mini-autobiographies. I reflected on how my mom had nurtured my curiosity and desire to be in the kitchen by being her right-hand girl in planning out the family's meals, creating the grocery lists, and preparing the meals from as far back as my memory goes. It taught me to be in a habit of exercising creativity and organization in everything I do, which I still try to do to this day. Although, these days I try to balance my dominantly analytical mind with some of the spontaneity and playfulness that seems to come naturally to my mom. A little risk taking can go a long way, and my mom has definitely leaned into that throughout her life.
Above Photo: I have absolutely no idea who took this photo or how it got onto one of my old tablets, but I am forever grateful to whomever made this photo exist. This is me and my mom (and baby bro in the green cap) at a dessert buffet we had at the conclusion of my final patisserie class in 2013 or 2014.
My mom often downplays the culinary skills she’s mastered over the years, however, many of those skills are the same ones I learned when I went to culinary school. From cleaning as you go, to making mirepoix and roux. From flavor profiles to measurement conversions. From fusing family recipes with ones that she saw on TV, to developing new recipes entirely from scratch. Her kitchen was a laboratory for her culinary education as much as it was for feeding ten people everyday.
All that being said, my mom’s cooking continues to change, especially as me and my older siblings have moved out and the younger ones have gotten older. She doesn’t feel compelled to cook in a way that is laborious and time consuming. These days her cooking is not influenced by the demands of who remains in the nest, but more influenced by what feeds her soul. That which is simple and stress-free.
Above and below: My family hasn’t had a Mother’s Day celebration together since this one in 2013, and this was probably the last time all ten of us were together for a celebration in general. I made her a strawberry Charlotte for this occasion inspired by this recipe written by a blogger who’d encouraged me to get into pastry. Photos by my big sister Moyna.
“My soul is in control. I do enjoy cooking, but I wouldn’t mind if I was on a beach somewhere, and I made something over a fire. I don’t need a lot. I don’t want to make a lot or cook a lot. I want to travel, but I don’t want it to be stressful. Italy, someplace warm. No more than an hour drive to the beach.”
Above: Me and my mom a week before I flew out to California for CASFS. April 2015.
convos with me and my mom using the high technology of my 4th gen ipad :D
Cassata Siciliana is the Cake my mom is talking about . . .
Header PC: Moyna Stansberry
Post Script
I took a training in the fall of 2019 that really shook me up, and reminded me of how much I love and am connected to my mom. Even though we are physically apart 99.9% of the time, we are deeply connected in a way that feels supernatural. A connection she nurtured with great intention. I recognize more and more how intentional my mom has been with her life and continues to be.
In the past several years, the transition from a child to adult relationship with my parents has presented a lot of new challenges. For me, one of those has been the difficulty of maintaining a connection to my mom that also accounts for my boundaries as an adult.
One that shows gratitude for all the work she’s done and does, but doesn’t idolize her to the point of contention when I recall old traumas, or she makes new mistakes (or I make mistakes and don’t want to admit or can’t see them yet! ughhh!).
One that is not characteristically American and individualistic, but is not obligatory and codependent.
One that is situated in new territory for us both . . . perhaps interdependent? As the kids are saying these days.
Either way, we’re figuring it out, and I’m grateful and honored that this woman is the foundation of my food story and life.
Until next time . . .