My mother really couldn't cook. Maybe that ability, or desire, or both skips a generation, since her mother was a decent traditional Southern cook whose Sunday dinners were fried chicken, biscuits and vegetables from my grandfather's garden. I think my mother saw food as a necessity rather than something to enjoy.
Nevertheless, food binds us together as families. Good food and bad contribute to the love and memories we share. My mother despised green peas. As adults, we had an understanding. Whenever she came to visit I would serve her peas in repayment for all the disgusting food she served me as a child. She understood my intentions and she always ate them with no protest, or even comment.
My mother died five years ago. On this Mother's Day, what I wouldn't give to be serving her peas.