For the Love of Mushrooms and Family

We didn’t say grace, but we were together. I think my mom decided that was more important. Venison, vegetables, fungi, a bottle of wine and a class assignment brought my parents and their children to the dining room Sunday afternoon. My sister Nicole, my brother Joel and I all brought our significant others as guests. Eight people sat crammed together sitting at various parts of a round glass table, the piece of patio furniture was there in place of a modest wooden table that would have fit our group more comfortably had my mother not given it to my Joel, a proud new homeowner. Three bottles of sparkling grape juice stood elegantly in front of my sister and I, next to the main dish. We would soon fill our glasses greedily with the fine taste of sophistication, competing for maximum consumption, a tradition that goes back to the first New Year’s Eve celebration I can remember. When my decision to make my perfect meal solidified on a variation of Julia Child’s Beef Bourguignon I knew my dad would enjoy it as much as I would because of all the mushrooms. I was nervous about the assignment until I made a phone call.

I’d been sick for what seemed like an age, but dramatics aside, it had actually only been a few days. Regardless, I wasn’t in the mood to do much of anything, period. But it was imperative that my mission be completed regardless of how I was feeling. I had been sent on a quest to make the perfect meal. To begin with, I knew I would need a cohort—I called my mother.

“I’m coming home on Sunday”, I said, “and I want to make dinner for the family. Can you help me?” The next day I got an email with an idea for a recipe.

Hi Baby!

Went looking for some main dish mushroom recipes ... and one of them listed was a variation on Julia Child's Beef Bourguignon (basically, a yummy beef stew) - the variation being that it is EASIER and much less time consuming to make.

Love, Mom

I was ecstatic when I received this message in my inbox. On the phone, I had asked my new partner in cooking to look for recipes with mushrooms as a major ingredient. I was planning on doing the same so we could compare notes, but she beat me to it. I went to food.com and checked out the recipe, which basically meant looking at the pictures. The images were appealing and I decided that Beef Bourguignon sounded splendid—though I’m not sure how it actually sounds, phonetically, that is, because I am not familiar with French pronunciations.

This all happened during the dark ‘middle-week’ when I came back from class and slept until morning between fits of coughing and cold sweats. By Thursday I had another favor to ask. In my darkened sick room I picked up my dorm phone and hoped my mother wouldn’t mind collecting the ingredients for me. She knows I’m on a budget as well as on a figurative death bed, in the throes of the flu, so she gladly accepted my plea. But before hanging up we ran through the guest list. My parents, along with Nicole and her inseparable boyfriend, Brandon, would be there for sure as well as myself and my boyfriend, Aaron, we’re quite inseparable ourselves sometimes. The big question was, “Should I invite Joel”? Only you if I wanted to, my mother replied. With trepidation I decided he and his girlfriend Tieren were invited as long as he truly wanted to attend. One of the most memorable moments I can convey to describe my trepidation goes back farther than my memory but it’s caught on tape!

Joel and I are on the back porch of our house, it’s the same back porch that’s snowy and wet today but in the home video the summertime sunshine has us in our bathing suits playing around a tub of water where a single dirty wash cloth calls to us both. I reach into the water grasping for the gray ball of fun and filth while Joel does the same. He beats me to it. Holding the cloth triumphantly in one hand and a rusty sprinkler that looks an awful lot like a dagger in the other, I stand defeated. I give it one more try but as soon as I make my move Joel shouts, “No!”, and in a terrible moment of suspense you watch helplessly as Joel winds up his arms to strike. The scene ends with a comedic slap to my face with the wash cloth. There’s a fine line that floats somewhere between siblings and rivalry for Joel and I.

Sunday came too quickly. I had barely gotten to sleep before the sun was streaming through the windows of my dorm room. My mom inadvertently gave me a wake up call. She rang around 9:30; I let her leave a voice mail, my alarm was set for 10, she asked me to pick up a final ingredient, pearl onions. I wasn’t sure where to get pearl onions but after stopping at a local grocery, Meijer, I was set.

The chopping and the slicing commenced as soon as I walked through the door—we were on a time line. My mother recently began picking up shifts at the local gas station, Lawson Oil Co., it’s because my Kalamazoo College tuition didn’t get easier to pay when I started my sophomore year. Her shift started at five and the pearl onions caused me to arrive at 12:30. I love my mom. We’ve had our rough patches and shared regrettable words but it’s not unfortunate that the school I chose to attend is only 20 minutes away from my hometown, Lawton, Michigan. I still call her every week and I cry to her on the phone when I’m fighting with my roommates or dealing with my most recent life crisis. I’m only 19 but she offers me a glass wine, I know this means she trusts me. My mother is a strong Christian. I don’t talk to her about everything but sometime around my senior year of high school, when she was about to lose me to my inevitable future, I noticed that even though she hated my lack of church attendance and my strong interest in boys, among other things, our bond as people and as mother and daughter was stronger than religious pressures. 

After putting the final touches on the stew my mother slid the large pot to the back of the oven. We were halfway there so when I sat down in the living room to relax my dad wielded the remote as usual, and chose an interesting show to pass the time. During the hour and a half it took to cook the meal my dad and I watched an old 1973 movie, “Don’t Look Now”. The surprise ending coincided perfectly with the climax of delicious aromas wafting out of the kitchen. When the gnome-like creature with the red cape chopped at John Baxter’s neck ending the film, I was smiling. My dad’s idiosyncrasies used to receive a different reaction but these days I’ve come to appreciate his antics. When he talks to me about his good old days or his most recent leftist political opinions for a straight hour unprovoked by any particular interest it cracks me up.

Joel and Tieren arrived during the psychic thriller and Aaron arrived shortly after. Brandon had been at the house all-day—inseparable. We all sat down to the table, several of us straddling a leg. The bread and noodles had been cooked by my mother and the honey was out, to go with the bread—a favorite of my siblings and I, something we all have in common. All the ingredients came from our small town grocery store, Wagoner’s. I am almost certain that there is no local food to be found at the establishment but one piece of our meal I am proud to say, came from the wild outdoors. The beef in our recipe had been replaced with the venison killed and processed by one of my dad’s old work. Every year he gives our family a generous portion. The mushrooms and the venison together gave the meal a gamey flavor that no one complained about. There were some mushroom haters but I didn’t mind that since they left more for me.

My mom rushed off to work and my dog Piper got a walk in the fading sunshine from me and Aaron. The stew and at a least a half a bottle of red juice filled my stomach to the brim long after Aaron drove his borrowed car back to school. I would leave tomorrow morning, me and my Toyota Camry weren’t in a hurry. That night Joel took off without a goodbye, Nicole and Brandon ran upstairs to hide together in solitude, I remember that need. My dad and I watched the TV together a while longer, the living room was where I wanted to be.