When Mama Cooks

Yesterday, Mom, Dad, and I watched the Vegas race together and enjoyed some good southern mama cookin'.

Of course, there was an ever-so-tiny hitch.

For the first time, Mama made some Cajun french fries. She called us into the kitchen, but I was a little slow in getting there.

Now, keep in mind, my mom is very particular when it comes to her cooking.  She will not only listen to your reaction, but she'll watch your facial expressions very carefully. Like I said, cooking--oh so big for Mama.

Anyway, I walked in and Dad was already chowing down some fries...without difficulty. Mom handed me a fry, and...

...I shoved it in my mouth, bit into it, started coughing up a lung, spit the thing out in my hand, and asked for water.

Very. Bad. Reaction.

The dang thing was SO HOT! And I don't mean spicy. Spicy I can do. I love spicy.

No, I mean blistering-devil-burning-my-tongue hot.

Of course, Mom doesn't realize this.

All I heard was my Dad laughing hysterically. Meanwhile my poor mom is standing there wide-eyed with her little spoon-thing, staring at me like I'm a dementor of epic proportions.

Finally, I was able to articulate the hot-issue, and you know what my mom said?

Mom: "Oh, I'm a terrible mama. I should have warned you they might be a little hot.  Damn aging. When I was younger, I never would've forgotten!"

Isn't she cute?

Me: "No, Mom, totally not your fault. I saw Dad eating them with no problem, and just figured they were fine."

Dad, still laughing: "Pretty good trick, huh?"

Me: "Oh, yeah, fantastic! Mom only thought I hated her cooking and my tongue still hurts."

Dad...yep, still laughing: "The look on your face when you spit it up was priceless."

Me, grinning: "It felt like it had a sort-of priceless pathetic-ness about it.  How were you able to eat them so hot?"

Mom: "Honey, when it comes to food, your father can do just about anything.  He's like Shaggy and Scooby all rolled into one."

Needless to say, I tried another one...after adequate cooling time...and they were delicious, which I promptly told her. 

Later that night she made beignets.  I knew to let them cool first.

And, that's just a typical Sunday with my family.  :)