8 November 2011

Violet Lite

Breakfast of Champions
“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” I said to my mom this morning as she poured skim milk into my coffee. She looked at me suspiciously, when I told her I don’t like cream. Then as I ate her leftover oatmeal,  and snatched away her orange, she was cautiously thinking, 'Who is this marvelous girl?'

Jed and I are in Ottawa, staying at my family home. My mother Violet, the healthiest women in all the land, has zipped off to an aquafit class in her new blue Honda, leaving me here with a treasure trove full of low fat foods.

There was a time when my sisters and I would mock my mothers cooking. We arrogantly tossed around words like ‘bland’ and  ‘flavourless’, while secretly tossing more garlic on whatever bird was cooking in the oven.  We also teased mom about her drinking habits, or non-drinking I should say. Half a light beer and she’d be ready to dance on the table. Except for the dancing bit, she’s just one barn-raising away from being Amish.

Maybe it’s because I’ve got Sober-itis, or maybe it's my treatment, but lately all I’ve wanted is my mother’s food. I’m craving the low-sodium- heart- smart- stir-frys that used to make me cringe, and the giant pot fulls of steamed rapini. Inside the fridge, everything has a number on it. 2% this, 1% this, and 1/3 reduced fat gouda that could sometimes be confused with wax.

To be fair, mom’s a good sport when we visit. Not only does she stock up on red wine, but creamy cheeses, lovely breads, and (in honour of my dad) crab cakes or other treats from the sea. But this time I told her not to, as I now share her once ridiculed tastes. I told her that whatever she wants to cook is absolutely fine with me.

Unused to my easy going nature, she can’t believe that I’m so satisfied with everything that is here. Now I'm her dream daughter, as I sit patiently while she reads me the back of a cookie package, riveted by the information. The salmon that she made me last night was perfectly seasoned, and served with a mound of things colourful and delicious.  Tonight, instead of going to Big Daddy's for martinis, I will probably stay home, and like last night, be in bed by nine. 

Now my mom is bobbing in the water, probably baffled by her perfect daughter. To complete this rosy picture, she would probably like  me to have a game of Scrabble. But that would be taking advantage of my newly generous nature. So a game of Scrabble (which I still loathe) is highly unlikely.

Mexican Bribery. Light.
And if happens, it will take a heck lot more than the other half of her light Mexican beer.

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