Peas! I Hate Them!

Thanks to Mama Kat’s Writing Prompts, I’ve decided to write about this (my friends are visiting so my time is very limited):

1.) What’s for dinner Mom? Describe a meal your Mom cooked that you dreaded eating growing up.

But I almost decided to write about this:

2.) Your morning routine.

Writing about my morning routine feels a little bit TMI so I’ll stick with food.

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I grew up in an Italian family. Food was good. Always. And it wasn’t just good. It was fantastic.

My mother served delectable meals for dinner, at family gatherings, and for parties. I was a very well fed girl.

Apparently she wasn’t born that way which I learned from my father. She wasn’t allowed to cook in her Italian household growing up because her mother did all the cooking. I bet my dad, who dined regularly with my mom’s family during their courtship, thought he was marrying a world-class cook. That was not to be the case.

My mom, married young, learned by experimentation…on my father. He was so sweet because she burned, from what I hear, almost everything. For some reason when she'd burn something, he’d call it “Spanish” whatever it was. “Spanish” rice, “Spanish” chicken, “Spanish”…you get the picture.

By the time I was old enough to chime in, she was darn awesome.

Except for one teensy, tiny thing…PEAS! She made me eat peas and I HATED THEM.

In the earliest of pea times, I would sneak some into my mouth and excuse myself for the bathroom (we ALWAYS had to excuse ourselves from the table any time we left per dad’s rules). I’d spit them out, take another bite a few minutes later and repeat. They weren’t dummies and were on to me in no time. Hence, no more potty breaks for me!

My next idea was to spoon my peas, when no one was looking, onto the table and distribute them under the rim of my plate. I’d excuse myself when I was finished and run out the door as fast as I could before my mom cleared the dishes (I bet she wondered why I didn’t clear my own which was required). She actually did me a favor and waited until my dad left the table before she did it herself. Again, she was on to my antics.

Her only recourse, when all else was failing, I was not allowed up until my peas were finished. So I sat. And I sat. And I sat for so long after my dad left the table with my mother glaring at me that she got tired of waiting (I suppose I was stubborn back then. I don't think I am as an adult). I think she eventually decided that she would rather go read her romance novel than sit for another hour with me in a standoff. She’d finally say, “Oh, just go out but come back before it gets dark.”

I guess I won that battle, if you can call it that, and I still dislike peas to this day. However, I will eat them if in a dish but never just a big spoonful. YUCK!

Is there any nutritional value to peas anyway? I didn’t bother to “Wiki” that little tidbit of information.