I'd like to tell a story about how excellent a cook my mother, Sarina Roffe, is.
One day, a long time ago, I was bringing my girlfriend home (now ex-girlfriend) for the first time. I told her that my mother was an excellent cook. I even boasted that she was far better than her mother - despite the fact that I had never even met her mother, much less tasted her cooking. (Which was decent, but nowhere near as good as my mothers as I found out later.) I was backed up by years of praise from numerous friends so I felt confident in this boast.
Three days later, we drove home... And on the way home, my girlfriend agreed with me. My mother was by far the better cook compared to her mother, and it wasn't close. She also remarked that she was surprised that I wasn't overweight after eating that kind of food growing up.
If you ask any of my friends while growing up, all of them would agree that she was better than their own parents. An invitation to stay over at our house was treated as gold because it gave them an opportunity to eat a REAL meal, and not a TV dinner like some of my friends were treated to. Especially sought after was her chicken soup with matzoh balls which is a Friday night staple in our house.
And the scary thing is... HER mother, my Grandma Renee, might have been even better. Her Gefilte fish was mouthwatering. My mother still makes a mean one, but its not as good. Grandma has long since passed, in 1994, a week after I graduated from High School, but I still vividly remember it, and her chicken soup which was equally as good.
Which is why when my daughters say that they don't like her soup, I'm absolutely mortified! They had just loved it just last week, and now they're complaining about it??? I hope one day they will speak of her with reverence like I do about my grandmother.
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