Soon after I moved to Chicago, I attended a culinary tour along Devon Avenue. Indian retailers began settling its borders in the 80s, and over the years, it's come to resemble a Bombay side street. Toward the end of the tour, a local grocer guided us through his store. As we passed the freezer section, he pointed to rows of frozen dinners featuring perfectly plated Indian meals.
“Just like mom’s,” he pronounced.
Unable to help myself, I blurted out, "Not my mom's."
Unfazed, he pulled open the freezer door, picked up two of the sleekly designed packages, and handed them to me.
“You’ve really got to try these.”
After stepping out of the store, I handed the dinners to a woman on the tour who had clearly been coveting them.
Growing up in southern Illinois, I envied kids who regularly ate Swanson's TV dinners. I longed for the normalcy of these All American meals - country fried chicken, oven roasted turkey, salisbury steak - neatly compartmentalized in aluminum trays. On occasion, my mom made pizza or pigs in a blanket from scratch. When she really let her creative juices go on Valentine's day, we divvied up a heart-shaped meatloaf. But on most nights, we ate homemade curry (fish, beef, or chicken), a stir-fried vegetable, yogurt, and rice. Dinner was one of the few things my mom could recreate from the old country. And, for the most part, the menu like our curfew and the policy on dating, were nonnegotiable. To cope, I created a disdainful jingle, "Rice is for mice..."
Now when my mom cooks for me, I recognize it as a unique gift. The flavors are pure, not formulaic or masked by preservatives buzzing in the background. More importantly, her dishes possess a human touch forever missing in frozen dinners, including "Home-style" versions. And If I’m dining by myself, eating her food makes me feel less alone.
I know I’m not the only one who craves the comfort of home cooking. It becomes abundantly clear when I walk around with my cake carrier. The top is translucent enough to let passersby see the frosted cake sitting inside. I encounter a wide range of reactions from strangers, from shy glances to looks of desperation. The latter are often accompanied by passionate inquiries like, “Did you make that?” or “Is that for me?” I’ve never sensed such longing in the frozen food aisle.
So this Valentine’s day, if you’re searching for a unique gift, consider making heart shaped salmon patties for your loved one. They're sure to appreciate your human touch.
