Radishes and chicken elicit memories of Mom-Mom

Posted on July 31, 2014 by

The radishes were radiant, tied up in a hefty bundle, the bright red orbs topped with green leaves, at the farm stand I visited on Tuesday.

I never see radishes that I don’t think of Mom-Mom and how much she loved them. She’d cut them in half, then pop them into a glass of ice water in the fridge to keep them cold and crisp for a tasty snack, sprinkled with salt – lots of it – when she made dinner. One time, she ate so many radishes that she got sick to her stomach and went to bed with a bellyache.

I made her chicken this week, too. It’s a recipe I learned long ago – at least 50 years or more – when I was dating John and spending weekends with the Tuttles.

Simple and tasty, it’s just baked chicken rolled in melted butter and breadcrumbs, seasoned with curry powder and parsley, and popped in the oven. But then, the crowning glory, about five minutes before it’s done, you smear it with a little mayo and put it back in the over until the mayo turns golden and bubbly.

We have fish most nights, but John never says “no,” when I suggest we have Mom-Mom’s chicken for dinner.

All week long, Mom-Mom has been on my mind as the family celebrates her life and lays her to rest in Cape May. She requested it in her will, and, while it took a full year, it’s finally happened.

We are not there to participate, as John recovers from heart problems. But we’re there in spirit, doing our best to participate through texts, pictures and Facebook comments.

And at home, I wear my Cape May shirt, make Mom-Mom’s chicken, eat radishes and remember.

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