Who does not have a favorite meal? Whether it is because it tastes better than the other dishes, or because it reminds you of an important memory, there is always a dish that you will like more than any other: in my case, it was stew.
My mother used to make stew during family gatherings — aunts, uncles, cousins…a lot of people. Because she was often working until late at night and rarely spent time with anyone and even her own family, she would ask me what I wanted to eat when she had a day off and I would go with stew as my first choice.
To me, cooking is a form of art coming from the heart — the taste reflects the heart. I always loved hearing the vegetables being cut repeatedly; the sweet noise it made was delightful. The meat being cut into small pieces was something I would look with great interest, as it was the man ingredient of many dishes — the ingredient that would make a dish more than a simple good or worse than a harsh eeew.
Of course, the best part of making stew is when you put all the ingredients together. A large saucepan on the oven. The sound of the broth heating over medium-high heat. The meat being put inside. The vegetables following afterwards. As you stir the mixture, the wonderful smell escaping the saucepan teases your nose softly and makes your mouth water. That’s how I felt every time my mother made stew.
Eating stew alone was already a pleasure for me, but eating stew with a big family was even better. I was close to my aunts and cousins, so I could joke around as if they were friends. We could talk for hours about the adults’ jobs, about how we — the youngest ― were doing at school, about the series we were watching on tv and much more.
A cheerful atmosphere makes every meal better.