Mama Wasn’t My Mother

Mama Wasn’t My Mother

She became the executive chef – and I don’t say this facetiously – of our home, cooking delicious meals that many of our friends still remember and, upon my mother’s instructions, baked perfect chiffon cakes and butter cookies, the likes of which we have not tasted again.  

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Dirty Pleasures

Dirty Pleasures

Looking back, I realize that ambulant vendors peddling food were so present in our lives then that we were never hungry. They would come like clockwork at their appointed time.

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