Come and Get It!

Feasting! But at someone else's house!

Dinner was on the table when I returned this evening from a baby shower. My oldest daughter prepared the meal. I didn't have to lift a finger. I give you this background information because I have been trained to do so--I am married to a man who likes to understand how my brain gets where it gets. He has asked me, "WHAT made you think of THAT?" over and over again in our many moons together. Now it just comes naturally to provide the additional information before starting a story. So this is what precipitated this blog: my messy kitchen.

Bryan enjoyed cooking. He picked up trade secrets and helpful hints and yummy recipes while working in the food service industry all those years. He made up creative concoctions to eat. He would call ahead and let us know he was on the way to town for dinner with the family. He'd pick up a kid or two and head to the market to purchase the stuff he needed to make a meal for us all. Bryan would never consent to using what we had in the freezer or pantry--he needed to start from scratch. He was persnickety about his ingredients though he rarely followed a recipe.

My mom and I would flip a coin and argue about whose home we would eat at. You see, my brother was used to cooking in a restaurant kitchen with busboys and prep people who would clean up after he him. I don't think he cooked too often in his own kitchen--grilling outside is the exception. He had no idea what it meant to CLEAN UP after himself. AND Bryan used EVERY single pot, pan, utensil, dish, plate, cup and...so either my kitchen or mom's would look like a cyclone went through it when he was done cooking.

But it was worth it. Really. My mouth is watering just thinking about the meatloaf and penne pasta and grilled chicken and peppercorn pasta and fish tacos and pita creations with baba ganoush (he went through a real Mediterranean thing for a while) and his famous eggs and spaghetti with chicken. Whew! I need to stop that. Making myself hungry as I type. I can't say that I miss my messy kitchen--because I still contend with it daily to remind me of my brother. But I long for his zeal and pleasure and excitement over feeding us all well. He sure liked to have happy eaters.

Okay--I am off to knock out that kitchen. Reilly is a little like Uncle B after all.