There are certain Pakistani foods I only eat when I visit my parents in Texas.
That’s mostly because I don’t have the patience or skill to cook like my mom. She’s among those who have a gift of creating meals without a recipe that turn out masterfully. Food is her love language. I grew up with meals and desserts that took considerable time and effort to prepare.
She also taught me from a young age how to handle a hot pan, saute onions, prep meat and vegetables and season with a multitude of spices. It gave me a foundation for how to feed myself, and later, my family and friends. This is a skill I had largely ignored passing down to my own children. They are busier with school and activities than I was at their age. We eat more convenience foods since both my husband and I work. Rushed meals were a hallmark of pre-pandemic life.
The pandemic-induced slowdown in all our lives presented an opportunity to correct this oversight. I wanted my children, now teenagers, to learn kitchen skills beyond ramen, boxes of macaroni and brownie mix. Like so many other parents, I was sick of eating my own cooking and tired of thinking about what to make for dinner. And I was curious to see what they would come up with when tasked with this responsibility.
Lo and behold, they rose to the occasion. My son made beef short ribs in the slow cooker. He pulled off a perfect lasagna. He grilled burgers, made tacos and chicken wings. Even his humble grilled cheese sandwiches got an upgrade with French bread and four different types of cheese.
Unsurprisingly, he gravitated toward making the foods a teenage boy would want to eat.
My daughter also stayed in her comfort zone. She started making cookies and cobblers from scratch instead of a mix, experimented with more shakes and smoothies and leveled up the snack food options in the house. She also made kabobs and a brisket.
Part of me was delighted with each new thing they turned out of the kitchen. But I also couldn’t help but notice how different their meal selections were from the curries and rice I had first learned to make.
Food is a big part of Pakistani culture, and I wanted to share this part of our heritage with them.
I pulled out a book in which I had written some of my mom’s recipes. Most don’t include specifics -- like measurements or times. She cooks from instinct and years of muscle memory. I had coaxed lists of ingredients from her and vague directions aided by years of watching her. But it had been a while since I attempted one of these dishes. I asked my son if he wanted to learn to make shaljum gosht -- a Kashmiri curry with turnips and goat meat that cooks for hours.
It’s one of my mom’s specialties.
He was game, so we got to work -- peeling large purple turnips, mincing ginger and garlic and cleaning bits of fat off the meat. I guesstimated the spices and instructed him on how to vigorously stir the pot while the meat browned. The smell of the simmering stew made me homesick in a way that was hard to put into words.
Because of the pandemic, we haven’t visited my parents since December. This is the longest I’ve gone in my life without seeing them. I’m hardly alone in this forced distancing.
I texted my family photos as my son stood in front of the bubbling pot on the stove. Everyone texted their encouragement.
My mom responded to him, “So proud of you. Can’t wait to come to St. Louis, so you and your sister can cook for me. That will be my real vacation.”
We can’t wait for that day, either, Mom.
I took a bite of the dish my son and I had made together.
It tasted like home.