Today, I am un-loving... the fact that my kids have no ratatouille. Anton Ego was the tough food critic from the 2007 Disney Pixar movie, Ratatouille. When he was served ratatouille, a peasant stew, he was shocked. But the second the flavor hit his tongue, he was transported to his childhood.
He returned to the time he crashed his bike and his mother prepared the same meal, the same way for him. It comforted him in a moving, inexplicable way.
I feel the same way about my Lola's (grandma's) cooking. Her chicken in brown sauce is my comfort food. No matter how bad a day I have, when I taste that first bite of her chicken in brown sauce, I magically feel better. None of us can recreate it (not that I ever expected I could. See related post here). I cannot even figure out what goes into the mysterious brown sauce. To this day, my 90-year-old Lola cooks me my chicken in brown sauce, my ratatouille, as my birthday gift every year.
I realized recently that my kids grew up with Inday's (Inday is a typical househelper's name here in the Philippines) cooking. We've gone through our share of different Indays through the years so there really isn't any dish - cooked in a distinct, personal way - that they grew up with and could call their comfort food, their ratatouille.
Sigh. Today, I am un-loving... that my kids do not have their own ratatouille.
Click here for previous posts from the Today, I am un-loving... series.
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