Determined To Succeed

A plain milk chocolate Hershey bar. That was one of my mom, JoAnn’s, favorite treats.

Today is June 9th, the one-year anniversary of her passing. It is also the last of the firsts without her physically being present on Earth (you know, the first set of holidays, my first birthday, her first birthday, Mother’s Day, etc.) and you guys know I have been thinking about this day for quite some time now, sometimes with a bit of sadness and sometimes with a smile from a wonderful memory.

And sometimes, like today, with the strongest taste for a plain milk chocolate Hershey bar.

I have shared many things about my mom with you but I don’t think I’ve ever shared with you some of her favorite foods. The foods that made her happy. The foods that made us both heavy. Hell, even the foods we didn’t have sometimes. The foods we could (and couldn’t) afford. So today I am going to celebrate my mom’s life by talking about her favorite foods (and some of my own, too). It may not be the healthiest blog post I’ve ever done but it will be fun…and slightly mouth watering.

My mom, JoAnn Larson, was always fond of saying how much she loved to eat two things when she was pregnant with me – Chinese food, and chocolate and vanilla ice-cream. She used to eat so much ice-cream in fact that she was convinced that was why my tummy is slightly lighter on one side than the other (my birthmark – a chocolate ice-cream half and a vanilla half). I have to laugh at that one given my half-white/half-black bi-racial make-up. It always seemed corny but I could never disprove it, especially since I had physical proof.

She also loved her some beef chop suey.

When my mom was kicked out of her home in Cicero, Illinois for daring to date and bear the child of a black man (gasp, the drama) she moved to Hyde Park on Chicago’s South Side. This was a wonderful place because it was so mixed in terms of it’s population. It also had the best kick-ass Chinese food on the planet from Lung Wah Chop Suey. It was there she found her love for beef chop suey (and gave me mine). My mom had it when she was pregnant with me and treated us to it all the time (when we had the money) when I was growing up. It was our fast food of choice, over McDonald’s, Wendy’s and even Harold’s Chicken. An order of beef chop suey and three egg rolls is what we used to get. Damn, those were the days.

There was also Pat’s Pizza, the pizza joint right across the street from where we lived (and where my mom established credit for us during our leanest times). I don’t know how the name just came to me (I couldn’t remember the name for the longest time) but I am thankful it did (thanks for the reminder, ma). Even if we didn’t have money my mama made sure we, and I, ate and there were many a night when we had either meatball sandwiches or a large sausage pizza. Sure there were times we got sick of it (because we had it a lot) but damn it was good, and their pizza had such a distinctive taste that when I found Al’s Italian restaurant and Pizzeria one year ago as my mom lay in hospice I cried because it tasted exactly the same. I needed that taste of childhood at this time last year.

Then there was Valois, the cafeteria-style staple of Hyde Park. This was truly a place where the melting pot of Hyde Park’s eclectic community came to make soup. My mom loved their breakfast – sausage, two eggs over easy and potatoes with white bread toast – and their lunch – pot roast, with mashed potatoes and gravy and fruit Jello for dessert (there’s always room for Jello). On Saturday’s Valois had spaghetti and meat sauce. We used to get that with a side order of “mash and gravy” (don’t ask why we had potatoes with spaghetti. Just roll with it). And many a Thanksgiving was spent there, if not at my mom’s best friend, Rosalyn’s, house, having their “traditional” Thanksgiving dinner (turkey and all the trimmings). And did I tell you this place has grits for breakfast? Awesome!!!

My mama also loved her fish, and we visited the Cafe Enrico frequently to take advantage of their “all you can eat” fried perch dinner. Hell no, it wasn’t good for us but it was damned good and damned cheap, too. In later years, when she lived with me for a while on the City’s North Side, we got fried fish and fries from a place called the Fish Keg on Howard Street. Again, not healthy at all, but some damned good-tasting food.

Rosalyn was an awesome cook, too. She’d make us fried chicken, spaghetti, greens, corn bread, beans and rice…everything. She even fried up some chicken wings and made spaghetti one night when we were so broke all my mom had was bus fare to get back and forth to work. My mom called Rosalyn in what had to be a pride-breaking moment and asked if she could make us something to eat – and she did. Thank God for Rosalyn. That night we ate and didn’t go hungry, and it was also that night I firmly remember saying to myself I’d never EVER go that hungry again. That I’d help my mom any way I could understand how to make money stretch so we’d never have to feel that poor. That was when I began my truest understanding of how cold money could be. If you have it, great. But when you don’t have it…

…but this is not a sad talk. It’s a talk about food, and no food conversation about my mom would be complete without memtioning her love of fried chicken, speaking of chicken. We used to eat at Harold’s Chicken all the time, but her first love was Kentucky Fried Chicken. For as far back as I can remember she loved (and therefore I loved) their extra crispy chicken (until they messed it all up and made it spicy crispy. ick.), mashed potatoes and gravy (noticing a trend?) and cole slaw (which I am now sure contains a level of crack cocaine or other addictive narcotic). Even when she was diagnosed diabetic in her later years I used to bring her the occasional KFC meal and sit and enjoy it with her, and she loved every bite. her and the cat, that is.

On Sunday’s we used to get sweet rolls and other pastries from the fresh bakery that was perfectly placed between where we lived and the park we went to every week. We used to get danishes, and she’d get her coffee (extra cream, no sugar) and we’d enjoy decadent sweets while sitting in the park or reading the paper at home. It was in this park I scattered her ashes almost a year ago.

Lastly, my mom loved her Pepsi. Back in the day, pop could be purchased in actual glass bottles (still the best-tasting way to enjoy an ice-cold soda) and we used to save our pennies, nickles, dimes and quarters to be able to afford a case of “the good stuff.” We’d put it right in the fridge and, when it was cold, would pop open a bottle and enjoy it together. Or we’d sit outside on the benches a couple of blocks away and enjoy a cold one on a hot summer night. Those were awesome times. And even though I have switched and am now a Coke man, I will occasionally have a Pepsi and think of my mom. For old time’s sake.

Well, as they say times change and you can’t go home again. Lung Wah Chop Suey, Pat’s Pizza and the bakery no longer exist. When I spread her ashes almost a year ago I would have given anything to have at least an egg roll from Lung Wah just to ease the pain a bit. But no dice. Or maybe that’s a good thing. Harold’s is still just as active as ever and I do have it from time to way occasional time when I visit, and there is nothing like trying to find a table in the now-double-the-size Valois for a taste of breakfast served just the same way as when I was a kid.And if I ever get a hankerin’ for pizza, I’ll always (hopefully) have Al’s.

But no matter where I go in the U.S., no matter what time of day and no matter what convenience store in which I shop I can always have the first and best thing that reminds me most, culinarily speaking) of my 0f my sweet and beautiful mama…

…that simple, wonderful and amazing plain milk chocolate Hershey bar.

It’s almost the end of May, 2010 (do you say twenty-ten, two-thousand and ten, oh hell, I don’t know) and it was this time last year that my mom, JoAnn, who was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer on May 24, 2009, was lying in a hospital bed dying from that dreaded bitch disease. We were seeing doctors who were trying to make her comfortable and having the difficult conversations about pain management, transferring to hospice and how much time she might have left. If you ever want to know what a really hard conversation is look your wonderful, beautiful mom in the eye and answer her “we’re in a bad way, aren’t we” question with the honest, brutal and damning truth…”yes.”

During the eighteen or so days it took from her diagnosis to death, and in the days after, before I returned to South Jersey, I gained 20 pounds back of the 175 I lost. It was not only easy it was tremendously easy. When you sit in a hospital room all day you might entertain ideas of eating better, healthier and less but that quickly turns into nervously eating shit. There are moments of boredom, fear, dread, sadness, humor, anxiousness, relief…every emotion under the sun. What does it mean? It means your adrenaline has kicked in as the one helping to provide comfort and care and you eat, at least I did to help calm the storm.

When we transferred Mama to hospice I knew it was the end, and so did she, but at least the room she was in wasn’t some cold, antiseptic and functional place. It was warmer, more inviting and soothing and a much more  fitting place for my sweet Mama’s spirit to spend its final days inhabiting her body on Earth.

In hospice, I kept eating. This time I had the comfort of having pizza from Al’s Italian Restaurant and Pizzeria which was mercifully close to the hospice place. Ironically, what made this pizza awesome was the fact it tasted just like the pizza my mom and I had when I was a boy. I had this pizza twice in the six days we were in hospice. I needed it. I welcomed it, like an old friend come by for a visit after twenty years…and we had some catching up to do. I needed a taste of my childhood during those moments of fear, dread and sadness.

I just wish that taste could have come calorie- and fat-free.

Why am I telling you guys all this on a beautiful Sunday morning? Because the countdown has already begun to the last “first” I have to face since my mom’s passing, the actual one-year anniversary of that day, and slowly but surely I have been stress eating again. I can tell you it has been mostly subconscious, eating a few extra things here and there. But that is no excuse. I still get my sweet cravings at night and I feed them sometimes with good things, sometimes with bad, and my weight is slowly creeping back up because of it. Not to mention the silly, stupid dreams I have because I eat late at night (but that’s a whole separate blog post – and one for which you’d need a strong drink or cup of coffee because my dreams can be really strange sometimes).

In trying to be Zen about losing this remaining last ten pounds, which is now eleven-and-a-half, I have said many things which I need to start saying to myself. I do forgive myself this weight. I will re-lose this weight. And I know WHY I am re-gaining this weight. Those things help me, they do. I just need to listen to them and fight my way through this.

Every day I start the day the exact same way, with the blank page. Every writer starts with one, every person starts with one. Each day is what we make of it. Some continue the events of the day before, some bring about new circumstances. But all of them have a component of choice to them and it’s that choice I need to remember as June 9 gets closer and closer.

I swear to you all I will re-lose this weight. I swear it to myself, too. And that, my friends, is the first line on my blank page for today followed very, very closely by my second line…

…Mama, I love you and miss you and your voice very, very much.