My Good Family

After much pestering, I'm back in the family fold for about 36 hours. As usual, the prime directives are Cook and Eat. This means that after flying in late Friday night and enjoying several drinks with a dear friend, I woke up Saturday to learn that my older brother and his lovely girlfriend will be here for brunch at 11am. Mum at least allowed me a coffee and dish of porridge before I hit the stoves.

I kind of hate cooking brunch -- it has to be eggs, it's a bit of a rush, and no one is terribly interested in trying something new. For all this, and my second straight hangover, I think we nailed it. I curried some canned tomatoes and simmered halved hard-boiled eggs within, broiled 2 bunches of fat asparagus, diced half a watermelon and half a pineapple and cooked a pot of rice. It was really easy, the eggs could sit until we were good and ready for them, and we were also able to eat through a half-pound of bacon without creating too much flavour chaos. We ate outside on the porch and had one of those delicious, rambling conversations that encompassed all manner of topics, from municipal politics to the superiority of 4-on-4 hockey to whether or not we had ever replaced the glass table top. I drank 4 cups of my mum's blisteringly strong coffee and jittered through the afternoon.

Us being us, the next task already called: making meringues and lemon curd to take to my cousin's for supper. My coz, the eldest of all 9 of us, has long been the family chef, creating elaborate, exquisite dinners for the family. It's always a blow-out at his place. On this gorgeous summer evening, he served a pork loin crusted with fennel and porcini powder cooked on his outdoor rotisserie, a pureed fennel sauce and grilled veg. To Die For. Inspirational. Ok, we were deep into the wine, but still. The salad of watercress, cilantro, cuke and watermelon refreshed us well enough that we devoured the meringues. The whole affair lasted about 6 hours. The rest of the party -- my aunt and uncle, Mum and Dad, coz and his wife -- are some of my favourite people. This is my good family, the ones who tell raucous stories, ask probing questions, demand all the details, tease and laugh. And eat and drink like the Irish Catholics we are.

At one point my aunt asked me "do you cook for yourself?" and I had to explain that no, I don't, and that I always feel guilty about it. Years ago, this very cousin made the most wonderful speech at our Nana's memorial, describing how Nana (a gay divorcee just like me) always took such pleasure from cooking for herself. It's true. She wrote us long, expressive letters, and in each one she would describe her evening's supper. Most often it was a few little lamb chops, sauteed in garlic, butter and oil, with a baked potato and some steamed broccoli. She was so excited about these meals that she would often have hand-written a "yum!" next to the typed passage.

I should see if I still have any of her letters.