A Food History

I wasn’t always a good cook.

Early in my marriage, I made a lamb stew for my stew-loving husband. It had pieces of shoulder of lamb, potatoes, rutabaga, turnips, parsnips, onions, carrots, and, of course, potatoes. A cup of red wine was called for.

As it cooked slowly for hours, with the rich smells emanating from the stew, my chest swelled as I prepared an offering of love for my new husband.

You can imagine my surprise when the stew exploded.

The container I was cooking it in — a glass Pyrex dish with a secure matching lid — launched itself to the heavens. Broken glass, meat and congealed vegetables stuck to the ceiling of our tiny kitchen.

My husband came home in time to witness the explosion. “That was your stew,” I said.

My husband, Mick’s, mother used to make her stew in a big pot, and it lasted the whole week. She would add vegetables and bits of meat as the week progressed. Mick and his brother even had the stew for breakfast on some cold winter mornings.

My mother wasn’t fond of cooking. But she could make spaghetti with meatballs and braciola — pounded flat beef stuffed with Parmesan cheese and parsley and rolled and fastened with toothpicks. I was always worried that the toothpicks would pierce my mouth and navigated around them gingerly. The beef was braised in the tomato sauce that was called “gravy” in our house.

My father taught me to use my fork and spoon to twirl the spaghetti to get it effortlessly to my mouth. This was Sunday dinner for as long as I can remember.

Except some Sundays when we went to dinner at Grandma Vitelli’s. She made ricotta ravioli at her floured kitchen table. I went over on Saturday and helped cut out each ravioli with perfectly fluted edges.

My cousin Johnny was a fussy eater. When he and I came home from Andrew Jackson Elementary School for lunch every day, Aunt Helen supplied a handwritten menu: peanut butter and jelly, bologna and cheese, and egg salad. Occasionally, she included BLT. I often chose the egg salad, and Johnny liked the BLT.

In the summer, before seedless watermelon varieties existed, she took the shiny black seeds from the cut-up pieces and dared us to find a seed.

Everything Aunt Helen made was delicious. Her chicken cutlets fried in a black skillet in oil so hot it caused the breadcrumb coating to separate from the cutlets to form a pocket of air was among her specialties.

Then there is my list of food firsts, like the first buttery croissant in Paris; Alsatian choucroute at La Coupole, a popular brasserie in Monparnasse; oysters at an oyster farm in Brittany; mussels in wine in a little town called Étretat in Normandy; my first cream tea in Devon, England, with scones, clotted cream and strawberry jam; foie gras while sipping Chateau d’Yquem at a restaurant in Munich; and grilled sardines on a hibachi in Portugal.

My first yak yogurt in Lijung, China, was delicious for breakfast. But chicken feet in Chengdu, China, including the nails, in different flavors from mild to spicy, I passed on.

Last year, on a trip to Paris with the three grandkids, we went to a local bistro. Snails and frog’s legs became firsts for the kids. They loved them and mopped up the garlic sauce. It set the tone for the rest of the two-week trip.

We had a Brazilian housekeeper for many years who took care of my kids. For a special occasion, she would make Feijoada for a crowd — a hearty black bean and mixed meat ragout that is often called the national dish of Brazil. It had pigs feet, pork ribs and shoulder and was served with manioc flour and thinly sliced collard greens sautéed in olive oil and garlic, with flan for dessert.

At one party, I hired a flute player and a guitarist, and we danced and ate ourselves silly. Caipirinha cocktails made with cachaça and fresh lime juice kept the party lively.

I also learned from my friend Barbara how to serve a buffet of different dishes for dinner parties; from Gretchen how it was perfectly acceptable to serve ice cream pops for dessert in the summer; and from Berry, who always made mystery casseroles with a side of pasta or rice that were perfect to feed a crowd inexpensively.

During the COVID-19 quarantine, we prepared many of Sam Sifton’s recipes cooked in one pot, pan, skillet or baking dish. One of my favorites was sweet sausages with Brussels sprouts and Yukon gold potatoes cut up, with a honey mustard glaze that perked the dish up.

Since I am recovering from cancer and can’t stand for long periods, my husband has been doing all the shopping and cooking. I pick the recipes and supervise while sitting at the kitchen counter.

He has made swordfish piccata, chicken thighs with shallots and cherry tomatoes, quickly seared tuna, and Ina Garten’s fennel and potato au gratin. This weekend, he made linguini with clams from Cor- J in Hampton Bays, and my granddaughter Lucy made an apple cake from apples she picked at Halsey Farm.

My husband even made a whole branzino on the grill especially for me.

We didn’t have to scrape it off the ceiling.