It was Sunday, the day of our family dinner. Every week, we would gather at my parents’ house for a meal that warmed not just our bellies but our hearts. This time, I was determined to make my mom’s special lemon chicken and broccoli—a dish that had graced our table for as long as I could remember. With my own family in tow, I found myself feeling nostalgic while planning to recreate this cherished recipe for my extended family.
Digging through my recipe box, however, I hit a snag. I couldn’t find it! A little panic crept in. Was I really going to attempt this dish only to let everyone down? No way! I had a plan: I would call my mom for the recipe. It was a long shot, since she was tending her garden three states away. But surely she could guide me over the phone, right?
With my phone in one hand and my laptop in another, I quickly rounded up the rest of the family, who would happily keep the kiddos entertained while I prepared the meal. They squirmed in excited anticipation as I paced back and forth in the kitchen.
“Ava, honey, are you there?” my mom’s voice crackled from the phone.
“Yep, got you, Mom. Could you remind me of those amazing ingredients?” I replied.
With her list in hand, I got to work. Everything was going smoothly until it was time to slice the chicken, and that’s when I hit a major roadblock—literally. The chicken was frozen solid! Panic set in as I realized I would never get everything ready in time. After running through our options, I decided to stick the chicken in the microwave.
As I pounded away at the chicken, fresh herbs drifting from my Mom’s garden filled my nostrils, and I felt far away and close at the same time. I could hear kids laughing out back, with Tony throwing Susie around like a baby instead of the sassy almost-teen she is.
“What can I do next?” I asked Mom while stirring the delicious sauce.
“Let the chicken thaw before you cut it, honey! Meanwhile, why don’t you make a little green salad for everyone?”
By the time the chicken had thawed and sliced, Laurent was back with unintentional comic book mascara from wading his way through the hose fight that the kids had grabbed on to.
“I can’t believe you knew how to do that!” I said gratefully, handing him tongs while I finished slicing the chicken.
“Hey, when a kid is hungry, a father knows how to become a chef.”
When everything was cooked and simmering together, it was finally time to serve dinner. I could hardly wait to taste everything as I plated our dishes. We all gathered around the table, and I bowed my head for a quick moment, internally thanking my mom for guiding me through the process.
Tony began to serve the meal, and I felt the warmth and love around the table. I looked around my family, and my heart swelled with happiness.
“Thanks for the great lesson, Mom!” I said with a wink.
“It isn’t just about the food, Ava; it’s the memories we share while making it,” she replied, her voice full of wisdom.
And just like that, I knew this recipe wasn’t just about the ingredients; it was about love, family, and the tradition that binds us all together.