I was very sad to find the day old Buttered Turnips covered in splotchy spots with a soft green fuzz. The moldy bits looked to be enjoying the dish as much as I had the day prior. I am not sure if it was the cheese or the turnips that had reached the turning point, but with Taps playing in my head, I ceremoniously delivered the leftovers to their temporary trash can grave.
I didn't take pictures of the green fuzzy food. You're welcome.
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The cheese mix for the buttered turnips this time
is sharp cheddar, feta, and provolone. Can't go wrong with that.
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Turns out, I really like turnips. The last time I remember eating turnips before this for Thanksgiving, at a house long ago sold, in a time irretrievable. Twenty years ago? Maybe more. My now late adoptive Mom* (or as I like to call her,
Mom) would go all out on holidays, preparing and serving multi-course meals for family and guests. There were never fewer than 10 at the table, and sometimes nearly twice that. She was a good cook, specializing in German and Italian dishes. The pasta course, the soup course, the meat course, the fruit and nut and cheese course, desserts one and two. Meals were an all day affair for the guests, and a multi-day affair for those of us helping her.
I wonder if that is what I am trying to recapture in this little exercise, cooking various larger meals to share with friends and trying to create my own version of this experience that I so intimately associate with "home."
If that's the case, well so be it. I miss you, Mom.
*Let it be known that my biological mom, who I also like to call Mom, is very much a part of my life even though we live a thousand or so miles apart.
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