Dinnertime Isn't Only For Eating Final

Brianne Butler
bmbutler@mail.usi.edu
English 201.010
Essay 2 Final
Word Count: 1,163

Dinnertime Isn’t Only for Eating
Passing around the dinner rolls, scooping pasta out of the pot and serving apple sauce is quite common at the Butler household. Pasta is an entrée my family commonly eats. Dinnertime at my house is not only a time to consume food, but also for communicating about our day and quite frequently bringing up memories of the past. At some point during our meal, someone will say something hysterical or bring up a funny memory. There is rarely a meal that goes by without laughter. You know what is coming when you hear the words, “Do you remember when…”
Since I was young, we have had pasta at least once a week. The type of pasta would vary, with my favorite being what we call manicotti. My mother’s creation of manicotti is my favorite. Manicotti noodles, tomato sauce with just the right spices, ground round, sausage, and cheeses combine to make an excellent family meal. Yes, those are the typical ingredients for manicotti, but for some reason my mother’s has always tasted better than any other I have eaten. I believe her manicotti is made with love and no one else can re-create or come close to it.
When I began the teenage years, my mother decided that it would be wise if she began to teach me how to cook. I remember one Saturday afternoon in Autumn, my mother said to me, “Brianne, I am going to teach you how to make manicotti.” I was on Cloud 9 when she informed me that I would be cooking dinner. She figured since I absolutely loved pasta, she would start big and taught me how to make manicotti. At about four thirty in the afternoon, we began my first cooking lesson. I thought that cooking was a lot harder than she made it seem. I had a problem boiling the water; I was impatient and could not wait. There was too much going on at once: waiting for the water to boil, preheating the over, preparing the meat, and starting the sauce. At first, I was overwhelmed and about gave up. I decided that my mother wanted to teach me for a reason, so I stuck with it. She told me a good cook will do things in a certain order and she taught me how she prepared one of my favorite meals.
After we got a majority of the meal started, we began adding spices to the sauce. Parsley flakes, minced onion, minced garlic, and garlic salt are the ingredients we add to the secret sauce; there is no set amount to add, we just stop when it smells good. After the noodles were cooked, we put them in a cool water bath so we would be able to stuff them with meat. We began to roll the meat into a cylinder shape, so it would fit in the noodles; we would then put the stuffed noodles in the baking dish. Once all fourteen noodles were stuffed, we poured our homemade sauce on them. Before we put the meal in the oven, we needed to put parmesan cheese, Swiss cheese, and mozzarella cheese on the top of the sauce. The final step of the meal, before consumption, was to put our manicotti in the oven for an hour at 350 degrees. After completing all of the steps of making manicotti, my mother said, “You did a really good job and I am proud of you.” This was a proud moment and memory for me.
During the time I was learning to prepare this delicious meal, sauce ended up all over me. Who knew when cooking, more food could end up on you than in the meal! As I waited for the timer to go off, which felt like an eternity, I anxiously waited to see the end product. The timer sounded. As I opened up the oven, I saw the golden brown dish. Excellent, would be the word to describe the manicotti. I was ready to eat this scrumptious meal; I eagerly called the rest of my family for dinner so we could begin or feast.
As I served dinner, my family was impressed that I had made this meal. It tasted delicious. I received so many compliments about my cooking. Since my family enjoyed my cooking, it made me want to be able to cook everything just like my mom. My mother gradually began teaching me to cook more and more things. To me, cooking was a huge responsibility and I was glad to take on the duty. Food, cooking lessons, and my mom all equal memories stored in my memory bank.
As long as I can remember, at almost every meal there would be an outburst of laughter with my mother often crying due to the funny situation or memory. To me, food not only represents nourishment for the body but a time of laughter and jubilation. Mealtime usually entails me laughing hysterically as well. There is never a dull conversation when my family and I eat. Someone will say something completely out of order, something that happened to them during the day or even the occasional impersonation of a co-worker from my dad.
Before I left for college, I made my mother cry from laughter. As we were recalling stories from the past, one came up about me falling out of a high chair when I was six months old. This was a shocker to me, as I never knew this happened and this was not a happy memory for my mom. The unhappy memory is now a funny memory, due to what I said at the age of 18. Without thinking about the proper way to phrase what I wanted to know, I immediately asked, “Did you think you hurt her?” By the time the words were out of my mouth, my entire family was laughing hysterically. It takes a lot to make my father laugh, but even he was laughing. I did not realize what was so funny, until almost thirty minutes later when someone finally calmed down and told me what was so funny. Whenever we see our mother in tears from laughing we know someone has said something ridiculously funny; the culprit is usually me.
Since I have been away from home, for mealtime, I feel as if I am missing out on a part of my family’s life. My family will call me if something made everyone laugh at the dinner table and tell me all about it. The Loft is currently providing me with more memories, that I in turn share with my family.
I wish food and dinnertime could equal fond memories for everyone. I feel as if talking and laughing, during mealtime, brings people and families closer together and they stay more connected. Mealtime is something I look forward to daily, not only for the food but for the conversation that will arise and ultimately the memory.