Food is love: delicious, overcooked, badly seasoned, or pureed. Still love. Then Mom she leaned in and whispered: "You know all they give you to eat here is crap." I'm "they". Bonus: Mom's recipe for the best potato kugel, ever.
Oh dear. I've never met your mom, but I fall in love with her and feel like I've known her forever. every time I read one of your essays about her. Give her a hug for me, please.
This made me roar: "Keeping the labels of the foods she liked in a small pile on the kitchen counter—to bring along next time we shopped; keeping the labels of the food she’d tried and didn’t want to repeat in another small pile on the kitchen counter—to also bring along—and forgetting which pile was which."
She'd love you. I wish you could have known her when she was...more present. And she got me in the habit of saving labels as well, particular cat food labels with my picky fur balls. Eventually I just started photographing them, but you know, like mother, like daughter.
Food is a love language....what a moving testimony of your mom's loss of its fluency. The photos tell so much, the stains on the well loved recipe page as well as the simple joy in ice cream. Your Substack is such a genuine resource of every day in every way love. ❤️
I feel like you are writing a road map for me of what to expect: when you provide the chronology, I can chart where my mom is in the progression. Losing her interest in cooking or preparing food (or is it loss of ability? Or is it feigned loss of interest because she recognizes the loss of ability but doesn't want to admit it...?); tastes changing and becoming simpler and more juvenile; not recognizing hunger and so not eating if not reminded or offered food. I'm in the process of signing her up for meals on wheels so she only has to heat something up, but you've already told me how that will go... :( My biggest fear in her everyday life is the ancient gas stove that she refuses to replace--blowing the whole house to kingdom come is not the exit strategy I want for her!
Oh babes, here's the thing, it could go the way we've gone, or not. Dementia is a moving target, once I feel like I've gotten a handle on something, that this is the "new normal" it changes, a sharp left, reverse, switchback, and then straight head a whole new direction. Or something we thought we'd already done. If I hadn't gotten mom into assisted living when I did, the next move was going to be to disconnect the gas stove. Consider that. It may annoy her, but it could also save lives.
Yes, we are moving toward disconnecting. At some point, she doesn't get to have a say, which I know is tough, but safety first. And I totally get it about the moving target--I see the potential for a thousand different pathways, but so far, I see a lot of familiarity.
I may be a London Jewish old gal , but that stained recipe page seems universal to our global Hamisha community! It is so reminiscent of a big orange recipe book my mum used to use (ill have to find out who the author is), which I think was my late nanas (she passed some years ago from dementia). There were always loose biro written and stained pages laying around my childhood kitchen.
Had to Google “biro”! Yeah, love the handwritten notes. The stains. Well loved, like the Velveteen Rabbit. The love makes them live. The homemade gefilte fish recipe died w one man’s, the best pork chops(!!!) lost when the other passed.
This was so beautiful Jodi. And creative! I know it may not matter now since you said she can’t taste things… but sweet potato brownies are friggin amazing and you could easily use the same ingredients for a pudding. When I read what you blended I kept thinking “throw some cacao in there!”
Yes, well I can still taste things. I have to restrain myself from nibbling on the sweet potato, the "chocolate pudding" and the Boost - it's all high, high calories, but delicious! And thank you for all you're doing in the face of the onslaught. You are a constant inspiration. Now, tell me more about these sweet potato brownies, grasshopper...
I read this with recognition at each step — yep, yep, yep. Except my mom would never stop eating for months. Voracious appetite, no more diets—Yeay! Ice cream I had to parse in small amounts in a million little paper cups with lids to be kept in the kitchen freezer and brought to her every evening or whenever she wanted one or more. The best ice cream that money could buy, whatever I could do to make her days a little brighter. In the middle of months of hospice she really wanted to leave and wanted me to help her with that but of course I couldn’t. Her doctor said the only way to hasten leaving the planet would be to stop eating. I can still hear her laughing about that. Stop eating? HA! NEVER! She looked at me like her doctor must’ve been absolutely insane. 🤣
I love the ice cream photos and the painting, Jodi.
This is so touching. The story of a loved one’s diminishing appetite is a painful one.
At my mother in law’s wake last week, my son commented that she would have been really cross that a tray of egg sandwiches were placed in front of her photo by the caterers. She grew to detest egg sandwiches in the nursing home.
I'm not a big fan either, except for the breakfast kind with bacon and cheese. For Mom's birthday last week a photographer friend came and spent the day shooting us, another friend is painting her portrait. I'm excited about both. Condolences to your husband and the family about your mother-in-law. I like that your son knew her well enough to notice what would annoy her. I feel like it's that everyday mundane stuff that sticks with us, that keeps them close in our hearts.
But also, when I make charoset, it's not TWO APPLES! It's not even 2 lbs of apples, it's a 5 lb bag, and half a bottle of wine (the only reasonable use for Manischevitz). And my recipes look just like that one--browned and basted.
I shudder and gag when I hear in AA that someone's first drunk was Manishevitz, and they continued drinking it. You'd be surprised how many people chose Manishevitz as their drink of choice for a long time.
I'm just learning to love dates because dried dates, to me, look like giant dead waterbugs. But soooo delicious. I love that you read the recipe. The potato kugel and kneidlach, to die for.
Years ago my dad made a recipe from the newspaper, but he didn’t know the difference between tsp and TBSP. So, yeah, he used three times the amount of pepper he was supposed to. We asked him to please not make that recipe again.
Also, I did not know that dark chocolate covered ginger was a thing, and now I want some. Now. I want it now. A large amount of it.
Trader Joe's for dark chocolate covered ginger. If they still have it, they have that annoying habit of cycling things in an out but we got a LOT of treats from Trader Joes. I love that you had a dad who cooked at all! Mine wasn't too macho too, just absolutely clueless in a kitchen.
Mine did all the cooking. When I was little, my mom was really sick for a long time, so he took over the cooking, and he discovered he actually liked it. When she got better, he just continued.
Well, other than that, not so much. He lied to me regularly, even stole from me, and laughed at me for being gullible enough to believe him. So he’s not my favorite person.
I guess everyone is a mixed bag. All of us are probably someone's not favorite person. My dad lied about everything for the first 15 years of my parents' marriage, just for fun. It was a complicated relationship, he's been dead 25 years. We get along pretty good these days. And with the distance, I can see the good things I took from even his flaws. I'm sorry you had a parent you couldn't/shouldn't've trusted. That sucks.
My heart melts every time I see a dad on the subway or the street with a kid they obviously love and are comfortable with. I think "Jeez kid, you don't know how lucky you are," a little bit jealously, a little wistful.
I have all those recipes in hard copy and scanned in because paper gets old and each one brings back memories. The food stains, misspellings, idiosyncrasies of the old Remington Rand typewriter. A lifetime ago from the days Mom grew up with a live fish in the bathtub in the days preceding Passover. You should steal the kneidlach recipe, they were amazing and light. The potato kugel was to die for, but it wouldn't keep, the potato in it turning color, but sooo good.
Wouldn't it be nice to have a potluck dinner where everyone brought a much loved recipe from childhood? Do you save your Mom's recipes?
All the love and care and humor you share in these posts❤️❤️❤️❤️
Oh dear. I've never met your mom, but I fall in love with her and feel like I've known her forever. every time I read one of your essays about her. Give her a hug for me, please.
This made me roar: "Keeping the labels of the foods she liked in a small pile on the kitchen counter—to bring along next time we shopped; keeping the labels of the food she’d tried and didn’t want to repeat in another small pile on the kitchen counter—to also bring along—and forgetting which pile was which."
She'd love you. I wish you could have known her when she was...more present. And she got me in the habit of saving labels as well, particular cat food labels with my picky fur balls. Eventually I just started photographing them, but you know, like mother, like daughter.
There you go. Believe it or not, while I was reading the essay, I was happily eating some M&Ms. Elayne and I would have been quite the sugar sisters!
Food is love! A beautiful commentary. I’m very familiar with the sweet potato pie. It’s always a hit here For Libby.
And so good for you! Hope you're back rested and refreshed.
Sort of
New perspective
Food is a love language....what a moving testimony of your mom's loss of its fluency. The photos tell so much, the stains on the well loved recipe page as well as the simple joy in ice cream. Your Substack is such a genuine resource of every day in every way love. ❤️
I feel like you are writing a road map for me of what to expect: when you provide the chronology, I can chart where my mom is in the progression. Losing her interest in cooking or preparing food (or is it loss of ability? Or is it feigned loss of interest because she recognizes the loss of ability but doesn't want to admit it...?); tastes changing and becoming simpler and more juvenile; not recognizing hunger and so not eating if not reminded or offered food. I'm in the process of signing her up for meals on wheels so she only has to heat something up, but you've already told me how that will go... :( My biggest fear in her everyday life is the ancient gas stove that she refuses to replace--blowing the whole house to kingdom come is not the exit strategy I want for her!
Oh babes, here's the thing, it could go the way we've gone, or not. Dementia is a moving target, once I feel like I've gotten a handle on something, that this is the "new normal" it changes, a sharp left, reverse, switchback, and then straight head a whole new direction. Or something we thought we'd already done. If I hadn't gotten mom into assisted living when I did, the next move was going to be to disconnect the gas stove. Consider that. It may annoy her, but it could also save lives.
Yes, we are moving toward disconnecting. At some point, she doesn't get to have a say, which I know is tough, but safety first. And I totally get it about the moving target--I see the potential for a thousand different pathways, but so far, I see a lot of familiarity.
You have a lot on your plate, feel free to reach out any time with "dumb" questions or to vent. Or cry. Whatevs.
Thanks! <3
I may be a London Jewish old gal , but that stained recipe page seems universal to our global Hamisha community! It is so reminiscent of a big orange recipe book my mum used to use (ill have to find out who the author is), which I think was my late nanas (she passed some years ago from dementia). There were always loose biro written and stained pages laying around my childhood kitchen.
Had to Google “biro”! Yeah, love the handwritten notes. The stains. Well loved, like the Velveteen Rabbit. The love makes them live. The homemade gefilte fish recipe died w one man’s, the best pork chops(!!!) lost when the other passed.
This was so beautiful Jodi. And creative! I know it may not matter now since you said she can’t taste things… but sweet potato brownies are friggin amazing and you could easily use the same ingredients for a pudding. When I read what you blended I kept thinking “throw some cacao in there!”
Yes, well I can still taste things. I have to restrain myself from nibbling on the sweet potato, the "chocolate pudding" and the Boost - it's all high, high calories, but delicious! And thank you for all you're doing in the face of the onslaught. You are a constant inspiration. Now, tell me more about these sweet potato brownies, grasshopper...
I read this with recognition at each step — yep, yep, yep. Except my mom would never stop eating for months. Voracious appetite, no more diets—Yeay! Ice cream I had to parse in small amounts in a million little paper cups with lids to be kept in the kitchen freezer and brought to her every evening or whenever she wanted one or more. The best ice cream that money could buy, whatever I could do to make her days a little brighter. In the middle of months of hospice she really wanted to leave and wanted me to help her with that but of course I couldn’t. Her doctor said the only way to hasten leaving the planet would be to stop eating. I can still hear her laughing about that. Stop eating? HA! NEVER! She looked at me like her doctor must’ve been absolutely insane. 🤣
I love the ice cream photos and the painting, Jodi.
This is so touching. The story of a loved one’s diminishing appetite is a painful one.
At my mother in law’s wake last week, my son commented that she would have been really cross that a tray of egg sandwiches were placed in front of her photo by the caterers. She grew to detest egg sandwiches in the nursing home.
I'm not a big fan either, except for the breakfast kind with bacon and cheese. For Mom's birthday last week a photographer friend came and spent the day shooting us, another friend is painting her portrait. I'm excited about both. Condolences to your husband and the family about your mother-in-law. I like that your son knew her well enough to notice what would annoy her. I feel like it's that everyday mundane stuff that sticks with us, that keeps them close in our hearts.
I've never included ginger in my charoset. Sometimes I'll cut up dates.
I had exactly the same thought!
But also, when I make charoset, it's not TWO APPLES! It's not even 2 lbs of apples, it's a 5 lb bag, and half a bottle of wine (the only reasonable use for Manischevitz). And my recipes look just like that one--browned and basted.
I shudder and gag when I hear in AA that someone's first drunk was Manishevitz, and they continued drinking it. You'd be surprised how many people chose Manishevitz as their drink of choice for a long time.
I'm just learning to love dates because dried dates, to me, look like giant dead waterbugs. But soooo delicious. I love that you read the recipe. The potato kugel and kneidlach, to die for.
You are such a good daughter.
Years ago my dad made a recipe from the newspaper, but he didn’t know the difference between tsp and TBSP. So, yeah, he used three times the amount of pepper he was supposed to. We asked him to please not make that recipe again.
Also, I did not know that dark chocolate covered ginger was a thing, and now I want some. Now. I want it now. A large amount of it.
Trader Joe's for dark chocolate covered ginger. If they still have it, they have that annoying habit of cycling things in an out but we got a LOT of treats from Trader Joes. I love that you had a dad who cooked at all! Mine wasn't too macho too, just absolutely clueless in a kitchen.
Mine did all the cooking. When I was little, my mom was really sick for a long time, so he took over the cooking, and he discovered he actually liked it. When she got better, he just continued.
You got one of the good dads. There's a limited supply. Lucky you. Lucky mom.
Well, other than that, not so much. He lied to me regularly, even stole from me, and laughed at me for being gullible enough to believe him. So he’s not my favorite person.
I guess everyone is a mixed bag. All of us are probably someone's not favorite person. My dad lied about everything for the first 15 years of my parents' marriage, just for fun. It was a complicated relationship, he's been dead 25 years. We get along pretty good these days. And with the distance, I can see the good things I took from even his flaws. I'm sorry you had a parent you couldn't/shouldn't've trusted. That sucks.
My heart melts every time I see a dad on the subway or the street with a kid they obviously love and are comfortable with. I think "Jeez kid, you don't know how lucky you are," a little bit jealously, a little wistful.
What a brilliant chronicle, Jodi. And that recipe photo brought tears to my eyes.
I have all those recipes in hard copy and scanned in because paper gets old and each one brings back memories. The food stains, misspellings, idiosyncrasies of the old Remington Rand typewriter. A lifetime ago from the days Mom grew up with a live fish in the bathtub in the days preceding Passover. You should steal the kneidlach recipe, they were amazing and light. The potato kugel was to die for, but it wouldn't keep, the potato in it turning color, but sooo good.
Wouldn't it be nice to have a potluck dinner where everyone brought a much loved recipe from childhood? Do you save your Mom's recipes?