Chef Mert experiments

Great rejoicing welcomed the letter providing a tuition scholarship to my son’s preferred graduate school. Quickly followed by anxiety as he looked for an affordable room to rent and considered the reality of planning, purchasing and preparing all of his own meals. Sure, he had saved money from his summer job, but routine living costs quite a bit.

The university sent a list of nearby apartments and rooms to rent. I perused the pages with him and circled a couple rooms offered free in exchange for household help and one that expected a token $10 a week for rent. The free rooms had found occupants. The $10 a week came with kitchen privileges and would be available in the fall when he needed it.

All he had to do was take the next step into adulthood and fend for himself in the kitchen. He had cooked at home, knew how to boil water, cook an egg and even prepare desserts, but the routine of every meal, every day overwhelmed him. Through a generous gift, he left with funds to pay for at least one meal a day at the college cafeteria along with my reminder that anyone can heat a can of soup or fix a bowl of cereal.

He moved into his second-story bedroom and became acquainted with his landlord, an elderly, retired nurse. She had folks who cleaned her house, mowed her yard and regularly monitored her medical condition. She wanted grad students to provide her with company and a fresh look on life when she took them out for supper. She entertained them with stories of her days as a visiting nurse. They entertained her with stories of their days at the university.
Although a diabetic, she loved her sweets and expected them to help her finish the boxes of doughnuts, cookies, cakes, sweet rolls she inevitably found at the grocery store.
Between meals out, meals at the cafeteria and breakfast, my son did not starve and he did venture into cooking for himself.

He called to announce he had created a dish he called “Unborn chicken.” I did not find the name appealing but it sounded okay when he described it as eggs mixed with milk, chicken broth and cream of chicken soup.

Independent as ever, he sought to break the bonds of mom’s home cooking. He purchased cuts of meat I never would consider. The epitome of his experiments came the weekend we flew up to see him receive his master’s degree. We planned to provide and share a meal with his brother’s family after the event.
But before the ceremony, my son proudly brought out a dish of green-colored, creamed soup.
“They had fresh asparagus,” he proudly told us. “I bought some, steamed it, creamed it and added cheese.”
Not the way I would have prepared fresh asparagus, but it sounded edible.
Then he told us the name of the dish: Kidney stew.
Right.

Mom had never cooked kidney anything, so he would create his own dish.
“I boiled the kidneys, cut them up into bite sized pieces and tossed them in with the asparagus,” he told us as he proudly presented us his green stew.
I stared at the dish dubiously.
His dad dutifully ladled out a generous serving. I took a polite couple spoonfuls, avoided the chunks and lost my appetite.

We recalled that stew last week.
“It was green and had these rubbery chunk in it,” my son said. “It was an interesting experiment and I kind of liked it until someone reminded me — very seriously — exactly what the kidney did for the body. Then it sounded worse than green eggs and ham,” he said referring to the popular children’s book by Dr. Seuss.
He threw the rest of it away.
These days he says he likes to make hamburger rice, made with ground turkey with seasoned salt and mixed in with generous amounts of rice, catsup and his all time favorite seasoning: Mayonnaise.

Definitely a man’s sort of dish, but a vast improvement over his kidney stew. I might even try it someday — if he allows me to measure out my own serving of mayo.
(Joan Hershberger is a reporter at the News-Times. E-mail her at joanh@everybody.org)


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