Skip to main content

Sitting at the table with Mama Taye'

I love to cook. I never expected that I would. I love to see people eat the food I prepare. I love to entertain. I love to hear the sounds of happy people.

I have been cooking almost full-time for the past five years, after my layoff. Prior to that, my husband was the master chef of our family and I was the one who cleaned up. My cooking forays were limited to the holidays when I would make the dressing and baked goods while he would make the greens, macaroni & cheese, and sweet potatoes. We would both doctor up the turkey and he would top off the meal with his fantastic lemonade and peach cobbler. There was a system and since we both loved having lots of family and friends around, we developed a rhythm that served anywhere from our family of 7 (now 5) to a crowd of 20 or more.

Then one day, probably after my daughter was so violently ill and just before when I discovered the local farmer's market, I discovered the wonderful herbs. I love thyme and rosemary. I pulled out pots and pans and experiment with these and slowly added dill and lavender and basil. I played around with dried spice mixes until I found the pantry staples I loved. Whole Foods Market became my favorite place. Here in St. Louis, I'm in love with Trader Joe's. Extra-virgin olive oil stays in my pantry as well as fresh garlic and red onions. I keep jasmine and basmati rice as well as organic chicken broth. My favorite pasta shapes are the penne and bow-tie. I loved those organic, canned tomatoes at Whole Foods Market and the entire array of frozen vegetables at Trader Joe's. I had found this amateur chef's creative paradise. I discovered several smooth and creamy white cheeses and found the joy of grilled portabella mushrooms.

I love color. I love to flavors. I love to see different colors and taste the dance of many vegetables on my tongue. I am not a big fan of lots of sauces, my favorite is just olive oil, perhaps Sun Dried Tomatoes or Basil Pesto from Trader Joe's. I might do a butter and herb toss, but for the most part, I'm not the sauce one. Now my husband, he makes a mean spaghetti and a mean fettuchine with broccoli, but he uses sauces. They are creamy, good, and crowd favorites with the kids. Me, I like the beauty of the greens, reds, and yellows mixing together on the platter. Taste begins with the sight and I want to make the eyes twinkle and the mouth water with the meals I create.

The economic downturn of recent years has allowed me to create inexpensive and filling dishes. One of my favorites is "Sunshine." This happened by accident. I was in my big kitchen back in Lee's Summit, Missouri. Dinner was always at 6:30pm. My son's friends always knew when to come over and there was always plenty for an extra plate or two. I had been in the house all that day and hadn't made it to the market. What was in my pantry? Chicken broth and some rice. In my refrigerator was some fresh spinach and pineapples. I had a couple boneless chicken breasts in the freezer. A few seasonings here, a squeeze of garlic there, and a sprinkling of red onion on top and a family favorite was born. There weren't any leftovers! The same now goes for my chicken and rice soup, my beans & rice, and anything I make with pasta. My one secret is that I use very little meat. I can't go entirely meatless with my crowd, but I have been known to take one boneless chicken breast and feed all five of us.

My love of creating has brought my cooking with love to the local Obama office. The volunteers and staffers are working long hours and I got tired of seeing the young college students with so many McDonald's wrappers at their desks. I took on the project of feeding them and coordinating meals in the final days of the election. There is something magical about food, it brings out the happiness of people. It makes me feel good to know that not only my family, but now, many others, have sampled a little bit of the fare sitting at Mama Taye's kitchen.

Here is my recipe for Sunshine
Take one cup of basmati rice and add 2 cups of chicken broth
Stir and bring to a boil, stir and put the top on, turn to low, simmer 20 minutes
Take one or two chicken breasts or 3-4 portabella mushroom tops, season to taste
Saute these in a wok or deep skillet with about 2 tbsp of extra-virgin olive oil
When the chicken is finished (about 10 minutes on each side), cut into little cubes (also for mushrooms if these are used, except these should be sliced and diced first, then sautee for about 5 minutes)
Put the meat back in the pan, add a bag of fresh spinach, about 1/2 red onion finely chopped, and squeeze one garlic clove - two if they are small, if you don't have a garlic press, just chop finely
Add about 1 cup of fresh pineapples or 1/2 bag of frozen - just eyeball this, let the juices get into the spinach also
The rice should be finished by now, take off the eye, fluff with a fork and add about 1/2 cup per person to the pan with the chicken, spinach, and pineapples.
Sautee for a little while longer, mainly to just toss all the ingredients together
Serve on a platter
A nice accompaniment is a side salad with balsamic vinegar and flat bread. This recipe also works nicely with tomatoes and pasta instead of rice!



Bon appetit!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Hannah's Song

We came together last night and sang Hannah's song. Family from California was in town, it was the night before Aunt Hannah's Home Going Celebration. We met at my house late in the evening to fellowship, remember, hug, eat, and laugh. Thom felt the love in the room and I'm sure his mom would've appreciated us doing what she did all her life - love. Aunt Hannah was a gracious woman. Her gentle spirit, sparkling eyes, and constant smile will be remembered. She has left us physically, but never spiritually. The laughter was like music in Thom's ear. For the first time in weeks I saw my cousin relax. He has been in a tornado for the past four weeks from his mother's diagnosis to her death. Even in her final stage, Aunt Hannah was granted her desire. She asked to not suffer long when it was her time to go, she had been a caregiver her whole life and I'm sure her prayer was for her son. In the last days of her life, she still greeted well wishers with a wa...

Brothers, Can we Talk?

 I'm a Black woman, born of a Black woman and a Black man. When my mother died, it was my father who nurtured me and instilled in me a sense of pride of self, of my race, of my abilities to do whatever I put my mind to do. He never imposed limitations on me as a Black woman. The only caution he ever gave me was to not burn my candle at both ends and to be mindful of my health, I am an asthmatic. He never stopped me from trying anything and always encouraged me. Daddy was a strong Black man who introduced me to Shirley Chisholm when I was a little girl. He reminded me of the fortitude of my late mother's quest for gender equality in the workplace and of the namesake who marched at Selma.  He is the one who gave me my pseudonym, TayĆ©. Daddy was a strong tower of empowerment and fought all the way to his last breath for social, gender, and racial justice. It is in remembering my father this morning that I'm asking the brothers, can we talk? What is it, especially those of my g...

Ashes to Ashes

 This is Ash Wednesday. For a lot of Catholics and Anglican Christians, it begins the holy season of Lent. We remember we are but dust and to dust we return, ashes to ashes.  It is a somber reminder of our humanity and the finality of life. We are a mere breath. Today, as a Hospital Chaplain Resident, I am imposing ashes on patients, family, and staff. It is a visible marker of a shared faith and belief. We look with anticipation to the finished work of salvation on the cross and in eager hope of the resurrection. As my day progressed, I noticed how much hope was in the eyes of the ones giving and receiving this reminder of our existence. It was both a somber moment and a joyful moment. Two things can exist at the same time. Like the world we find ourselves in. Even as it seems like the darkest, certainly the darkest I’ve known in my six decades on this earth. Completely imperfect as a nation, there was still a glimmer of light until the nightmare became reality. We wonder abo...