out & about by Martha Bassett
I’ve often been asked what I would’ve done for a living had I not been a musician. If you had asked eight-year-old me, I probably would’ve said “an astronaut” or “a gymnast.” But as a grown up, I know where lies my passion, and possibly my latent skills. I would be a cook. Growing up, my mom controlled the kitchen. She taught me the basics to get my Girl Scout cooking badge, but ultimately the kitchen was her domain and she didn’t want others underfoot. I was allowed to be the potato masher (which I took very seriously) and was required to be the dishwasher. Mom, like her mother, cooked three meals a day. It was a bona fide creative outlet, and she experimented freely. I didn’t expand my culinary repertoire past mashed potatoes until college – when at long last I had my own kitchen. I learned to make authentic spaghetti sauce with meatballs from an Italian friend. I learned the fine art of fried corn from a friend from Kentucky. I’d call my mom frequently with questions about rhubarb cake or creamed tomatoes or corn pone. I’m so grateful for the opportunity I had to learn about turkey dressing and gravy from my grandma before she died. I think of her every Thanksgiving when I taste it. As the years have passed, I’ve spent considerable effort learning to fry chicken, make homemade pasta, and bake sourdough bread. For a while I got deeply into cheesemaking, which turned out to be too time-consuming to keep up with. One year I grew a variety of half runner green beans from seeds my dad gave me, and I canned 84 quarts. They tasted like home, unlike any other beans I’ve bought. If there was a bright side to being quarantined for most of 2020, it was my ability to spend time in the kitchen. I learned to cook fish, which turned out to be easy. Since my current yard is too shady to garden, I signed up for weekly produce from a local farm. That infusion of fresh vegetables made me realize how lucky I was to 1) have a home with a kitchen, 2) have access to good food, and 3) be healthy. A lot of things that I formerly took for granted became focal points for Thanksgiving.
18 • SURRY LIVING Nov. 2021 Issue
Much like my mom, I hold my kitchen as private territory, my happy solitary place. And yet somehow, my two sons have both grown up to be professional cooks. I’m amazed at what they teach me, and I am pleased when they ask for my recipes. Although I didn’t consciously teach them, they learned from me like I learned from my mom and my grandma, attempting to duplicate the tastes of comfort and home. Not long ago, when visiting my partner Pat’s family for Thanksgiving, I raised a critical eyebrow when Pat’s mom put buttermilk in the mashed potatoes…until I tasted them. The next morning, she showed me her special method for making thick, golden-brown potato cakes with the leftovers. Last Thanksgiving my son Max insisted that I try cream cheese in my mashed potatoes. They were rich and creamy, the perfect bowl to hold my grandma’s turkey gravy. I was so proud of him! Dear reader, I wish for you comfort, good health, and delightful culinary surprises this Thanksgiving. May you be brave enough to add new ingredients to old comforts and have the presence of mind to be grateful for your bounty.
