Sunday, May 3, 2009

I Woke This Morning . . .

. . . And Staring Me In The Face

Was the lead headline on the Lifestyles section of the local newspaper - - "SWEET Science" on a photo of the executive chef at the local Zia Park Race Track and Black Gold Casino.

The accompanying story described a new trend in food preparation, moleecular cooking , explained by chef Manny, known to me through son CT and his wife College Cook.

Without my going into the story at length, it seems Manny and his deputy chefs have mastered a technique taught by very few master chefs, mostly in Europe, a technique which produces many SWEET menus

That should take care of the SWEET theme for tonight.

But wait jest a minit! Here's more on that theme. It seems Yarntangler thought after my Saturday blog that I was issuing a secondary topic for May but twasn't so. I must compliment her for rising to a perceived challenge, however, with her recipe for SWEET and SOUR. Nice going daughter one.

What else brings to mind the word SWEET?

My late mother adopted a saying from her Irish father. How often he uttered the saying is unknown to me except that Mother once told me she probably picked it up the day Grandfather got off the trolley on Bay Street, after his workday at the Revere Copper Works, walked down to the house, saw his chickens in the backyard staggering drunk and hollered "Sweet Mother of Jesus."

From that day on whenever something drastic took place, and even , in time, when I began to comprehend language, Mother very often could be heard exclaiming "Sweet Mother of Jesus.," like the night our homemade root beer exploded and broke the jars of our newly-made jelly, plastering it all over the walls and into her hair, too.

- 30 -


  1. You had a root beer explosion, too? We had ours in a small basement room of a rental house in Portland. I was upstairs and heard weird noises coming from below. Downstairs two steps at a time to find one "sweet mother of Jesus" mess.

  2. I remember an explosion that wasn't root beer. It was C"s hidden cider stash which had frozen in the cubby hole by the cellar stairs. Naturally, the potent hard cider had sprayed everything and there was a reference made to a mother but not mary. It was more like "Mom's going to kill me!"