Becky Johnson - We Laugh, We Cry, We Cook: A Mom and Daughter Dish about the Food That Delights Them and the Love That Binds Them

To my grandchildren,
who bring such joy to Nonnys kitchen,
and my husband, Greg;
Life began again, the day you took my hand
Becky

To Jared,
for giving me courage to write,
and Jackson, for giving me a story to tell
Rachel

Laughter is brightest where food is best.
Irish Proverb

Feeding the people I love is a hands-on way of loving them. When you nourish and sustain someone, essentially, youre saying that you want them to thrive, to be happy and healthy and able to live well.
Shauna Niequest

Our kitchens and the kitchens we came from seem to have a universal pull on us. Good food, deep love, and hearty laughter become the tastes of heaven for the hungry souls gathered round our tables.

Food is perhaps the most commonly used metaphor that God uses to tell us something meaningful and eternal. From forbidden fruit to manna, to loaves and fishes, to bread and wine we could follow the thread of Gods Unfolding Story by going from food to food, drink to drink, meal to meal in passage after passage of the Bible.

Maybe thats why there are so many hidden layers of meaning when we stir a pot of Mamas chili or cut into a ripe red watermelon and find our minds transported to picnics in the hot, verdant summers of childhood. Cooking engages every sense: the taste of homemade peach ice cream, the smell of sweet corn, the sounds of steak sizzling on the grill, the hard, smooth feel of a good crisp apple in the hand, the arresting beauty of fresh garden veggies artfully arranged on the lopsided ceramic plate you made at age nine. Unlike anything else, food sears itself into our memories.

Indeed. Food is all this and more.

Besides the fun of the food itself, cooks share a jovial companionship in the kitchen. Laughing, chatting, and cooking with one another, preparing a good meal for our family and friends, is one of the ways we, as mother and daughter, bond best. In spite of our quirks, somehow in the kitchen it works. And if it doesnt work, its usually funny. Then it becomes a story. And the story becomes a memory, and that bonds us too. Then we write it down and share it with others, as weve tried to do in this book.

So ultimately, it is all good.

Welcome to our kitchens and to the food and stories and memories that bubble up from them. Were so glad for your company at the table.

Note: After this introduction, Rachel and Becky will indicate who is speaking with our names before each section.

No one who cooks, cooks alone.
Even at her most solitary,
a cook in the kitchen is surrounded
by generations of cooks past.
Laurie Colwin

We were in Phoenix on vacation. It was morning and I was asleep, dreaming. In my dream I saw my married daughters face, glowing, and then I heard audibly the words She is pregnant. I woke up with a start. It felt less like a dream than a proclamation of joy.

I emailed Rachel about my dream and then settled outside on the patio to enjoy a cup of coffee. What if she really were pregnant? How wonderful that would be! Rachel would get to experience all the joy of being a mom, just as Ive enjoyed being her mother through the years. As I sipped my coffee, my mind drifted back to earlier times. I recalled when Rach was in the slow process of turning from a child into a teenager, when I first glimpsed what my daughter might be like as a woman and as a friend.

At thirteen my little girl walked into the bathroom in her T-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes, her hair pulled up in a ponytail. Thirty minutes later, she walked out looking like a model from a teen magazine. Her strawberry-blond hair fell around her shoulders in ringlets, and her cute dress with the figure to match immediately made her dad and brothers nervous. Ordinarily she was a quiet girl. In fact, we worried about her shyness. But puberty not only brought out her beauty, it also brought out newfound conversational skills and an extremely dry wit.

The thing that most surprised me about Rachels blossoming self was how much she loved things done carefully and in order. She liked her room organized, she kept her schoolwork filed, and she arranged her clothes in the order she planned to wear them. Those who know me know that I have basically made a cottage-industry career out of flubbing up. I was what Rachel refers to as a challenging parent, and at times my scatterbrained style would exasperate her to the point of near breakdown.

At that time, however, as I was becoming a writer and speaker who was forced to rely on her wits to get around the country, I wanted to show Rachel that her mother had learned new and impressive organizing skills. So when I was asked to speak in Nashville, I thought it was the perfect opportunity to both bond with and impress my dubious daughter. I asked her to come along.

When we landed in Nashville, I showed her the brochures of all the historic places we could visit in Music City. It took my young teen no time to decide on the outlet mall. That afternoon we must have shopped, walked, and talked for five hours two happy chicks. The sun began to set and the air grew nippy. Our stomachs began to growl, and our feet were begging for relief, so we headed for the rental car.

Do you think the hotel will have a Jacuzzi? Rachel asked as she struggled to make the last few feet to the car.

I bet they do, babe, I replied as I fumbled through my purse for my keys. Well have to check it out, wont we? Hey, Rach, you dont have the keys, do you?

What?

I cant seem to find the car keys.

Her palm went immediately to her forehead, dramatically.

A gust of cold wind sent chills up our aching spines as we trudged back toward the mile-long train of stores. Forty-five minutes later, after retracing every step wed taken, I found the precious keys in the corner of a dressing room, just moments before the mall closed for the night.

Exhausted and frozen, our stomachs now screaming for food, we fell into the car with twin sighs of relief.

Mom, Rachel said, her voice trembling from fatigue and cold, youre going to give me gray hair before Im fourteen.

I smiled weakly and started the engine. As we drove away, I offered cheerfully, Ill take you any place you want for dinner! I know a great little Italian bistro, or maybe youd like to go to a fancy restaurant at Opryland?