Raw Lamb for the Kids and a Pig in the Tub

My mother, Linda Farmerie, has been rocking the electric range since her early teenage years to get a meal on the table and the family fed, whether for her parents, husband, or children. This could have turned her into a supplier of sustenance but instead my mother embraced the love of food and instilled it in our family. She was a pioneer of her time in 1970s suburbia USA where Wonderbread was king and Fondue was all the rage.

Our neighborhood at the time seemed to emanate a certain shade of beige when it came to food. It was monochromatic in color, culture, concept, and flavor, but this wave of beige stopped dead at our door as my mother just wouldn’t allow it in. The folks next door ate overcooked pork chops but in our house the kids ate kibbeh. These fried Middle Eastern lamb treats can only be made better by eating them my mom’s way- raw with a scattering of white onion, fresh parsley, and a squizzle of olive oil. Did we love eating raw lamb? Yes. Did the neighbors think we were weird? Yes. Did we care? No.

These same neighbors might have had reason to worry when their children came running back home telling tales of monsters in the Farmerie house. Monsters? It was only a portly pig lounging in the tub, bathing in brine while waiting to be transformed into something tasty the next night. Where else were we meant to brine the beast? And to think that we only charged these kids a quarter to witness such a sight — even in retrospect I think this was a suburban spectacle well worth the price of admission.

It wasn’t always just eye opening experiences that came out of my mother’s kitchen though. Every family on the block got to benefit from her obsession with Bon Appetit magazine. This mothers little helper entered our lives in the early 70’s, and despite my father’s “encouragement” my mom never threw a single issue away. She spent evenings highlighting and copying the articles that took her fancy and laboriously transcribing recipes onto index cards that would receive a Dewey decimal style system of organization. The magazine stash outgrew the shelves and eventually spilled out onto the floor where they found their new home. The faded covers and well thumbed pages reflected the patina of a home with three rambunctious boys, and the knowledge within reflected directly to what was on our table. Fortunately for the kids on our street these magazines also translated to constant culinary offerings. Poppy seed bread, zucchini cake, and homemade lemon sorbet went a long way to cementing my mother’s reputation amongst the neighbors, that we ran with it, and it cleared their minds of pickling pigs and raw meat.

I know that my childhood friends still remember these times fondly and think of my mother to this day as a gourmet guru. She provided a childhood of live lobsters and Lebanese cuisine. She provided a garden full of goodies and shelves full of exotic spices. She provided culinary inspiration to our family and to our neighborhood, and more than her fair share of delicious memories. What more could a chef ask for?

Thanks mom- Happy Birthday and Happy Mother’s Day!