Lately, I’ve been thinking about my Grandmother, Evelyn. Sadly, she passed away last year. Maybe it’s because the seasons are changing, and this will be my first Thanksgiving/Christmas without her. Or maybe, it’s just because she STILL makes me laugh. Out loud. A lot. But whatever the reason, she’s been on my mind.
For those of you who don’t know about her, Gramma Ev, was the epitome of an ‘Angry Italian Grandmother’ complete with a sharp tongue, and, a voice that sounded like she’d gargled with rocks, or as if she’d smoked unfiltered cigarettes, since birth. Seriously, you’ve never heard a rant, until you’ve heard Gramma Ev. But despite all of her so-called character flaws – no one was funnier than she was.
Anyway, the other day, my father made some shrimp for the family and ‘special shrimp’ for me. Why? Well, because I cannot cook to save my life. Trust me people, I’ve tried and it never ends well. For anyone. Kitchen appliances and I don’t mix! While I watched my father effortlessly maneuver his way through the kitchen: adding spices and seasonings, grilling, sautéing, and cooking with delight, I thought to myself, ‘Why can’t I do that? It looks so simple!’ But then I remembered a moment in time, I had long since forgotten. And, I doubled over laughing. And I’d like to share that moment with you.
Once upon a time, there was a girl named Meleah. She was 23 years old, and a single mother of a two-year old boy. But she didn’t know how to cook. Gramma Evelyn constantly nagged Meleah to learn how to operate a stove, or an oven, or a blender, or anything kitchen related. Nevertheless, Meleah refused. She just lived on take-out, and instilled the ‘hey do you deliver’ method, when flipping through the yellow-pages. Finally, after years of not-so-subtle badgering, Meleah gave in to Gramma Ev, and decided to give cooking another chance.
It was early one Sunday afternoon, when Meleah felt like making egg salad sandwiches. Of course, that meant she needed to make hard-boiled eggs. But Meleah was unsure if she was supposed to boil the water FIRST, like you do with pasta, or, if she was supposed to put the eggs in the pot with cold water, and just wait. Meleah also didn’t know how long she was supposed to boil the eggs, and/or how a person is supposed to ‘test’ to see if the eggs are done cooking.
Meleah figured this would be the perfect opportunity to call upon Gramma Ev for some cooking advice. She also thought her Gramma Ev would be proud of her for making an effort, and that Gramma Ev, would jump at the chance put on her ‘Bossy Pants’ and school Meleah in the kitchen.
But that’s not exactly how it worked out.
Here’s how it actually went down:
Meleah: “Hi, Gramma Ev?’
Gramma: “Yeah.”
Meleah: “It’s Meleah.”
Gramma: “Oh. Hi.” [sounding thoroughly annoyed]
Meleah: “Um…I have a cooking question for you.”
Gramma: “What?”
Meleah: “I have a cooking question for you.”
Gramma: “You’re cooking?”
Meleah: “I’m gunna try!”
Gramma: “Okay. What’s your question?”
Meleah: “When you’re making hard boiled eggs, do you have to boil the water first? Or can you just put them in the pot with cold water?”
Gramma: “That’s your question?”
Meleah: “Yeah…”
*** CLICK ***
Yep.
That’s right.
Gramma Ev hung up on Meleah.
HUNG. UP.
DENIED.
SHUT. DOWN.
Meleah stared at the receiver of the phone in total disbelief. And then she died from laughter. Because she realized the simple act of boiling water did not constitute as a ‘cooking’ question to Gramma Ev.
——————
To this day, I still have NO IDEA how to make hard-boiled eggs.
And to this day, whenever I see a hard-boiled egg, I crack the f*ck up.
Man, I miss her.
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