Mother Cooks Best

by: Janica Henrine Red Illustration by: Eric C.

I’ve never tried to cook before. But this morning I woke up wanting to grab a wok and cook myself breakfast. I grabbed the things I’d need for this recipe, some cooked rice left from dinner last night, minced garlic and onions, a couple of eggs, salt, pepper, and some other things she used to prepare in advance. I placed the wok in the burner and started the flame. “Careful not to heat the wok too much before adding the oil, my dear. You don’t want your garlic and onion burnt.” She whispered in my ear. I added the oil in and waited for it to heat up. As I was about to put the garlic and onions in, she whispered again in my ears.

“Now, careful not to burn those. You hate the taste of burnt onions.” I smiled at her words and carefully dumped the minced onions and garlic in the oil.

“Stir those until the onions become clear.” And stir I did. “Time for the ground meat. You prepared those beforehand, right?” Oh no! I turned the burner off and rushed to my fridge to grab the ground meat. I sighed in relief when I found that it’s already been defrosted. I went back and again, started the burner. I placed the meat along with the onions and garlic. “Pour in my secret sauce.” She jokingly said. I grabbed the bottle I had stored in the corner of my cupboard. ‘Mom’s secret sauce’ it’s label says. The sauce sizzled as I poured it in. It’s unique scent instantly filled my small kitchen and took me back to my childhood. “You’re ready to put in the rice.” She informed. I could feel her hand assist me as I poured each ingredient in. The rice started to mix with the meat as I continued to stir, the sauce coated everything perfectly like how she does it. I created a small hole in the middle of the rice to cook the eggs in. I cracked, one, then two eggs before mixing it to create scrambled eggs. “Just a little uncooked before mixing it all together,” she always says. Soon it was time to fold everything together. By the time I finished mixing, the eggs, meat and rice have already mixed together like how they should be. I grabbed myself a bowl and filled it with the fried rice I just cooked. Then sprinkled some spring onions for garnish and a bit of flavor. I grabbed my phone to take a photo, then I heard her whisper once more. “Thank God first for the food before everything else.” I clasped my hands together and said a little prayer of thanks and guidance. I then grabbed my spoon and took a bite. I closed my eyes as tears started to stream down my face. The flavors and everything else were too familiar not to notice. Everything was just like how she does it. “This is it.” I couldn’t help but say. “This is Mom’s cooking.”

There is comfort in food. There is home in a person. Just because someone is gone, doesn’t mean she’s truly gone. Sometimes she’s in the little things we used to enjoy. The places we used to go together, and the food we used to enjoy with them.