A LIttle Bit of This and a Dash of That

Prompt: Write about someone searching for a missing ingredient, literally or metaphorically.

A Little Bit of This and a Dash of That

When I was a little tyke, I used to follow my momma everywhere. Most of the time she would be in the kitchen preparing meals for the day, baking sweet goods and even canning or pickling vegetables and some fruit from our garden. My momma was loaded with energy, especially when it came to food preparation. “Yeah, I am a real dynamo,” she would sarcastically say. One day when I was literally caught up in her apron, she looked at me saying, “my boy I can’t have you in my way, so I am going to give you an opportunity you won’t regret.” I looked up at momma inquisitively, “what do you mean momma? What opportunity?”  

“My son, I am going to teach some things about cooking that will help you later in life. I will train your tongue on how to decide what ingredients to use in foods that you cook.” I looked up at her befuddled wondering what she meant by training. All I could conjure up at the moment was an image of a ringmaster with a whip training tigers in a cage. For a moment I was terrified my tongue would be lashed by a belt. Then I understood she meant tasting the recipes during cooking preparation. Whew, I said to myself after she explained how we would taste as the recipe was assembled. From that time forward, I became my momma’s apprentice. Later, she would affectionately label me as her “little sous-chef.”  I asked her what a sushi-chef was. She smiled saying “you are my big fish, who listens to his momma.” Later in life, I learned she was not far from the truth. As a sous-chef I may have been a big fish in second command, but I was always snagged and pulled by the master chef to do this or that… his way.

From dawn to dusk my momma would be in the kitchen preparing meals for us and countless relatives who came over for dinner.  Her life never seemed to extend outside the kitchen except when she would daily go to sunrise service and to church with the family on Sundays. Those were the two passions in my mother’s life: food and God.  Her attitude was totally selfless; giving to others in need or to others just to fill up their bellies.  As I grew in knowledge from my momma about food, her passion soon became my passion, except I never got into the God thing.

Her lessons were simple enough and even interactive for me. She would ask me to comment on the sauce she was preparing asking me how did it taste? Early in my training I would say “Oh that tastes good,” or “Yuck.” Hearing those responses prompted her to guide me to say descriptors like “cheesy, or meaty, or fruity or creamy.” As time went on, she honed my tasting skills by asking me to be more detailed about describing her preparations. Momma would ask for me to be more specific. I would say, “it needs more sugar or perhaps a little more salt.” She would show me her recipes as I got older to understand how certain ingredients paired with other ingredients.  Momma would emphasize the importance of recipe balance. Her catch line when the recipe was out of whack was it needs a “little bit of this and a dash of that,” as she pointed to the things she had to add to make the recipe magically come alive. Momma was an artist, pure and simple.

Even as a teenager I still hung onto the “apron tail” of my dear momma. Our time together held precious memories. She revealed more and more of her culinary mysticism concerning her recipes. Her notoriety grew exponentially as she fed more than just our family. She made meals for our neighbors; for our church; for our school; for the community.  People pleaded for her recipes, but momma was unrelenting holding firm to the secrecy of her magical recipes. I approached her one day about publishing a cookbook. Her response to me was to give me the “evil eye.” Never again did I bring up the subject.  

With high school graduation on the horizon, I decided to follow my dream of being a culinary chef. I savored (pun intended) the thought of attending a culinary institute.  I wanted to live out my momma’s legacy by being a superstar in the world of culinary arts. I would have liked to say that my momma was proud of me for my decision, but she never lived to see me get my high school degree. The heartfelt news of her passing left me feeling desolate, depressed, uninspired, and disheartened to pursue any interest in food. At this point, I was uncertain as to what direction I should go. I lamented “woe is me.” I conjured up a great pity party for myself. 

Since momma was gone, I was never really hungry. I began losing weight. But one night I awoke and found myself famished. I was so hungry I could eat a stable full of horses. I searched the kitchen drawers for one of my momma’s recipes. Lo and behold, there was a handwritten journal detailing all of her magical recipes! I worked late into the night preparing a few of them. I ate like a king! I realized this was my calling.  In the subsequent days, I enrolled at the university majoring in culinary sciences and food science. My college curriculum was full of variety. My momma would have described it as “little bit of this and a dash of that.” She would have not been far from the truth. I learned about the different aspects of the industry. It was insane as to the volume of material to learn. There were classes in basic and specialized cooking. A hearty dose of food chemistry, processing, and food engineering. There were other classes devoted to microbiology, food safety and equipment management. My majors required a “dash” of communication skills and people management. Plus, there was a “bit” of financial and business skills development. I excelled at my classes in both majors. After six intensive years I graduated at the top of my class. I was determined to be one of the best culinary artists in the country. I wanted to honor my momma’s legacy. 

Soon out of school, I apprenticed as a leading sous-chef in one of the top-notch restaurants across the country.  Word got out to other various master chefs that I was gifted and determined to succeed in the culinary realm.   My master chef, on the other hand, knowing how proficient and creative I was becoming, wanted nothing better to keep me under his reign. Every opportunity I had for advancement at the restaurant was quashed by the master chef. He was determined to hold fast to the reins of control over me.

Seemingly overnight like the plague, the virus nemesis, Covid, overwhelmed everyone indiscriminately. Our restaurant was forcibly shutdown by the state. So many people had lost their jobs including myself. The owner of the restaurant, the master chef, had other foodservice interests which kept him gainfully employed. He ignored our cries to reinvent the restaurant to fit the situation.  Instead, he moved out of state and implemented our ideas at his other locations. I was astounded at his callousness, disregard, and contempt toward all of us.

For the first time in my career, I began to understand the sense of community working at a restaurant. Employees working in close proximity developing a variety of relationships from good to bad. It sounds a lot like one large family filled with camaraderie, respect, warmth, and abiding concern, laced with annoyance, jealousy, pride and even distrust. But it still had all the makings of one large family.

I hoped and prayed this shutdown would not last long. In the meantime, together with others who lost their jobs at the same restaurant, we took to the streets helping various food pantries and soup kitchens service the poor and indigent. The shutdown forced many in the food industry and other service agencies to scale back or close their doors altogether. So many people who barely scraped by before Covid were now starving.

We worked feverishly to ensure that many mouths were fed.   Those who joined our endeavor, including myself, received a small daily stipend and our meals. But the greatest rewards we received came from the accolades of the patrons who dined on our cuisine.  I was incredulous to see the faces of gratitude and joy from people who had so little.  One would think it was a special holiday because every night the recipients were jubilant and grateful for the meals they were given. To top it off, the assembly of people insisted that after every meal the cooks and servers were given a round of applause. Many of us were flabbergasted and even embarrassed at the generosity of their praise.

Perhaps the best compliment that I received in my life came one day when I was preparing meals at one of the soup kitchens. A teenager dressed in a torn dirty shirt, muddy jeans and raggedly worn shoes came to my station in the cooking area. He looked at me with wide eyes asking “Hey, mister how do you do that?” I asked him what he meant. He responded, “How do you make the food taste so good?” A flood of memories came surging into my heart. My eyes teared as I remembered momma’s words. “A little bit of this and a dash of that. That is all you need my boy.” Welling up with emotion, I added “How would you like to be my sous-chef from now on?” And the legacy of my momma continued on as I mentored that young man through high school in the culinary arts. He went on to graduate from the Christian Culinary Academy in Canon Beach, Oregon.

It was that day at the cooking station when I really discovered the missing ingredient in my life. My recipes and cooking were great, but not phenomenal. It was only until I “added” the love and faith in God giving it to those who partook of those recipes. All of this was inspired by my momma. Giving of oneself, in this case my culinary finesse to others, was my way to honor God for the abilities He had given me.   My momma honored God by feeding hundreds of people during her lifetime. That really was what my momma was about. She learned from the greatest provider who fed thousands of people on a hillside over 2000 years ago. His name was Jesus.

And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him. (Colossians 3:17, NIV)

But just as he who called you is holy, so be holy in all you do; (1Peter 1:15 NIV)

“Honor your father and your mother, as the Lord your God has commanded you, so that you may live long and that it may go well with you in the land the Lord your God is giving you. (Deuteronomy 5:16, NIV)



NIV=New International Version

Author: Pete Gautchier

Acknowledgement: Reedsy Prompts