Food, Questions, and Mom

Becoming my mother through cooking

By: Lydia Tallarini

One of the hardest transitions to college life has been changing my expectations about food. The first day I had lunch here—during Welcome Week, at Middlebrook—I was confused. I hadn’t been to a dining hall or cafeteria for more than a year. I chose the sloppy joes and instantly regretted it. They were vegan, something I hadn’t seen until putting them on my plate, so it was time for a culinary adventure. 

Ever since I was little and got my own pink icing to frost cookies with, I’ve loved helping my mom with cooking. She’s a wonderful cook and a proponent of learning by doing—which is how I absorbed some of her kitchen skills and outlook on life. She’s never been slow to say when something’s not being done right, but her criticisms only reveal her high standards when caring for others.

Still, some judgments come out a little harsh, from both of us. The “Why did she use salted butter?” incident comes to mind, as do countless other times when we’ve questioned the culinary choices of family, friends, food bloggers, and professional chefs (I think we would both be eliminated from “Hell’s Kitchen” early on). And it doesn’t just apply to food—books, movies, etc. It’s worth asking why.

So after I’d gotten more food and a glass of water, I tried the sloppy joes. The combination of seasoning and texture was unexpected to one who hasn’t eaten much vegan food. My reaction could be summed up in one question my mom and I have often asked each other:

“Just . . . why?”

As I pretended to enjoy my meal, I realized that I was becoming my mother. It wasn’t a very sudden realization—not like the times I’ve found myself saying her usual phrases. This was different. I didn’t say anything, just ate and thought. In that moment, I saw that my way of approaching the world had become very similar to hers, and it started with food.