By Misa Shikuma
Me and Mom circa 1993.
“What did your mom cook at home?”
Cognizant of my Chinese American heritage, many expect me to wax nostalgic about stir fries, rice dishes and dumplings, yet what I remember most about my mom’s home cooking are baked goods: cookies with centers oozing with chocolate that my brother and I gobbled up just as soon as she’d transferred them from the baking sheets to cool; buttery cinnamon monkey bread for breakfast on special mornings; lemon bars with a simple shortbread crust covered by a tart and tangy curd and a light dusting of powdered sugar; pies, the harbinger of summer, using blackberries picked from our backyard.
Whereas other moms bought ready-made baked goods from the store (or perhaps half-assed it with a cake mix), my mother made everything from scratch, relying on recipes culled from the many cookbooks she checked out from the library or clippings curated over the years from various newspapers and magazines, some faded and yellow with age as they’d come from my grandmother. She had an inquisitive mind, an adventurous spirit and, like me, a serious sweet tooth.
Some of my strongest childhood memories revolve around mom’s baking, like the time I (as a precocious toddler), insisted upon a Minnie Mouse-shaped cake for my birthday (which she delivered with artistic aplomb); the time she overmixed my favorite brownie recipe, causing me to put my head down on the table in silent disappointment for several moments after I’d taken a bite; the time she made three different types of quiche and brought them to school at lunchtime to share with my class; or the time she told my rambunctious brother and me not to jump around too much because it would adversely affect the cake rising in the oven.
As I grew older I began to take a more active role as her kitchen assistant, eventually spearheading my own culinary projects and maintaining a food blog for several years that served as my recipe box and portfolio. And when it came time to leave home for college, mom was there to help me pull together the baking box of sheet trays, mixing bowls, cake pans, spatulas and wooden spoons that would get me through all the birthdays, tea parties, Valentine’s Days and I-need-some-chocolate-chip-cookie moments for the next four years.
In a lot of ways, mom wasn’t so different from other mothers I was acquainted with, yet between her full-time job as a history instructor and the responsibilities of managing a household that she shared with my father, she still managed to fit these little baking projects in. Recently I asked her what compelled her to do so. On the one hand, she said, was curiosity since her own mother hadn’t had the time to bake treats when she was growing up. As a second-generation Chinese American, when my grandmother made food it skewed heavily toward Cantonese. Baking was a way to dabble in other cultures and cuisines without leaving home. Plus, the experimental aspect of trying new recipes appealed to her intellectual side.
Though she’s never said this explicitly, I think that having my brother and me as little assistants in the kitchen reminded mom of how she, as a child, used to play sous chef to her older sister when they were growing up. The act of preparing food together is almost as big of a social ritual as partaking in the meal itself. Some of my fondest childhood memories include time spent in the kitchen together, and to this day I rely on certain recipes that she taught me.
But most importantly for my mother, at least, is the “hippie” ideal of cooking from scratch to avoid preservatives and other undesirable substances present in ready-made, store-bought foods. (Okay, another thing that makes my parents stand out from many others in their cohort – my brother and I grew up attending political protests, marches and union meetings). As an undergrad studying anthropology and environmental science, learning about everything from historical foodways and hunter-gatherers to the Slow Food movement and organic farming, I became heavily influenced by contemporary writers like Michael Pollan and Marion Nestle. Cooking one’s own food made perfect sense to me because, well, how else can you be sure of what’s in it? With my baking endeavors becoming more ambitious, I don’t think anyone was particularly surprised when, towards the end of my time at university, I decided that I wanted to go to culinary school.
I informed my mom of my decision over the phone, after many agonized conversations about whether to apply to this internship or that summer program.
“Well, sweetie, I don’t think you’ll ever really be content until you give it a go,” she said.
With her blessing I applied and was accepted to Le Cordon Bleu’s pastry program in Paris, jetting off to France and returning a year and some odd months later. Today, working as part of the tight-knit pastry team at a one-star Michelin restaurant, I’m constantly reminded of the woman who sparked my interest in food as something more than just nourishment and supported me pursuing that passion to the next level.
“We may not save people’s lives, but at least we brighten their day,” a sous chef from a previous job once told us after a particularly rough morning.
Since the professional kitchen can be as unforgiving and demanding as it’s portrayed on reality television, those words are a constant reminder of why I chose the path that I did and, I suspect, why it was so important for my mother to bake birthday cakes and treats for the class. No matter whether it’s haute cuisine or came from a mix, food is meant to be shared; to cook is to engage in an act of creation that has the power to bring joy into the world. Even though us kids left the nest years ago, mom continues her baking projects, sharing the fruits of her labor with neighbors, co-workers, friends and extended family, texting me photos and occasionally links to recipes. Because for dessert enthusiasts like my mother and me, happiness never tastes so sweet as when it’s homemade.
About the Author: Misa is a pastry cook currently residing in the San Francisco Bay Area. She writes, edits, takes photos and travels in her spare time.
