In her new memoir Mom & Me & Mom,
Maya Angelou explains how she reconnected with the mother who abandoned
her during her childhood, but who came to be a strong, vital force in
her adult life. An Oprah.com Excerpt:
By the time I was
twenty-two, I was living in San Francisco. I had a five-year-old son,
two jobs, and two rented rooms, with cooking privileges down the hall.
My landlady, Mrs. Jefferson, was kind and grandmotherly. She was a ready
babysitter and insisted on providing dinner for her tenants. Her ways
were so tender and her personality so sweet that no one was mean enough
to discourage her disastrous culinary exploits. Spaghetti at her table,
which was offered at least three times a week, was a mysterious red,
white, and brown concoction. We would occasionally encounter an
unidentifiable piece of meat hidden among the pasta. There was no money
in my budget for restaurant food, so I and my son, Guy, were always
loyal, if often unhappy, diners at Chez Jefferson.
My mother had moved into another large Victorian house, on Fulton Street, which she again filled with Gothic, heavily carved furniture. The upholstery on the sofa and occasional chairs was red-wine-colored mohair. Oriental rugs were placed throughout the house. She had a live-in employee, Poppa, who cleaned the house and sometimes filled in as cook helper.
Mother picked up Guy twice a week and took him to her house, where she fed him peaches and cream and hot dogs, but I only went to Fulton Street once a month and at an agreed-upon time.
She understood and encouraged my self-reliance and I looked forward eagerly to our standing appointment. On the occasion, she would cook one of my favorite dishes. One lunch date stands out in my mind. I call it Vivian's Red Rice Day.
When I arrived at the Fulton Street house my mother was dressed beautifully. Her makeup was perfect and she wore good jewelry. After we embraced, I washed my hands and we walked through her formal, dark dining room and into the large, bright kitchen.
Much of lunch was already on the kitchen table.
Vivian Baxter was very serious about her delicious meals.
On that long-ago Red Rice Day, my mother had offered me a crispy, dry-roasted capon, no dressing or gravy, and a simple lettuce salad, no tomatoes or cucumbers. A wide-mouthed bowl covered with a platter sat next to her plate.
She fervently blessed the food with a brief prayer and put her left hand on the platter and her right on the bowl. She turned the dishes over and gently loosened the bowl from its contents and revealed a tall mound of glistening red rice (my favorite food in the entire world) decorated with finely minced parsley and green stalks of scallions.
The chicken and salad do not feature so prominently in my tastebuds' memory, but each grain of red rice is emblazoned on the surface of my tongue forever.
My mother had moved into another large Victorian house, on Fulton Street, which she again filled with Gothic, heavily carved furniture. The upholstery on the sofa and occasional chairs was red-wine-colored mohair. Oriental rugs were placed throughout the house. She had a live-in employee, Poppa, who cleaned the house and sometimes filled in as cook helper.
Mother picked up Guy twice a week and took him to her house, where she fed him peaches and cream and hot dogs, but I only went to Fulton Street once a month and at an agreed-upon time.
She understood and encouraged my self-reliance and I looked forward eagerly to our standing appointment. On the occasion, she would cook one of my favorite dishes. One lunch date stands out in my mind. I call it Vivian's Red Rice Day.
When I arrived at the Fulton Street house my mother was dressed beautifully. Her makeup was perfect and she wore good jewelry. After we embraced, I washed my hands and we walked through her formal, dark dining room and into the large, bright kitchen.
Much of lunch was already on the kitchen table.
Vivian Baxter was very serious about her delicious meals.
On that long-ago Red Rice Day, my mother had offered me a crispy, dry-roasted capon, no dressing or gravy, and a simple lettuce salad, no tomatoes or cucumbers. A wide-mouthed bowl covered with a platter sat next to her plate.
She fervently blessed the food with a brief prayer and put her left hand on the platter and her right on the bowl. She turned the dishes over and gently loosened the bowl from its contents and revealed a tall mound of glistening red rice (my favorite food in the entire world) decorated with finely minced parsley and green stalks of scallions.
The chicken and salad do not feature so prominently in my tastebuds' memory, but each grain of red rice is emblazoned on the surface of my tongue forever.
"Gluttonous" and "greedy" negatively describe the hearty eater offered the seduction of her favorite food.
Two large portions of rice sated my appetite, but the deliciousness of the dish made me long for a larger stomach so that I could eat two more helpings.
My mother had plans for the rest of her afternoon, so she gathered her wraps and we left the house together.
We reached the middle of the block and were enveloped in the stinging acid aroma of vinegar from the pickle factory on the corner of Fillmore and Fulton streets. I had walked ahead. My mother stopped me and said, "Baby."
I walked back to her.
"Baby, I've been thinking and now I am sure. You are the greatest woman I've ever met."
I looked down at the pretty little woman, with her perfect makeup and diamond earrings, and a silver fox scarf. She was admired by most people in San Francisco's black community and even some whites liked and respected her.
She continued. "You are very kind and very intelligent and those elements are not always found together. Mrs. Eleanor Roosevelt, Dr. Mary McLeod Bethune, and my mother—yes, you belong in that category. Here, give me a kiss."
She kissed me on the lips and turned and jaywalked across the street to her beige and brown Pontiac. I pulled myself together and walked down to Fillmore Street. I crossed there and waited for the number 22 streetcar.
My policy of independence would not allow me to accept money or even a ride from my mother, but I welcomed her and her wisdom. Now I thought of what she had said. I thought, "Suppose she is right? She's very intelligent and often said she didn't fear anyone enough to lie. Suppose I really am going to become somebody. Imagine."
At that moment, when I could still taste the red rice, I decided the time had come to stop my dangerous habits like smoking, drinking, and cursing. Imagine. I might really become somebody. Someday.
Two large portions of rice sated my appetite, but the deliciousness of the dish made me long for a larger stomach so that I could eat two more helpings.
My mother had plans for the rest of her afternoon, so she gathered her wraps and we left the house together.
We reached the middle of the block and were enveloped in the stinging acid aroma of vinegar from the pickle factory on the corner of Fillmore and Fulton streets. I had walked ahead. My mother stopped me and said, "Baby."
I walked back to her.
"Baby, I've been thinking and now I am sure. You are the greatest woman I've ever met."
I looked down at the pretty little woman, with her perfect makeup and diamond earrings, and a silver fox scarf. She was admired by most people in San Francisco's black community and even some whites liked and respected her.
She continued. "You are very kind and very intelligent and those elements are not always found together. Mrs. Eleanor Roosevelt, Dr. Mary McLeod Bethune, and my mother—yes, you belong in that category. Here, give me a kiss."
She kissed me on the lips and turned and jaywalked across the street to her beige and brown Pontiac. I pulled myself together and walked down to Fillmore Street. I crossed there and waited for the number 22 streetcar.
My policy of independence would not allow me to accept money or even a ride from my mother, but I welcomed her and her wisdom. Now I thought of what she had said. I thought, "Suppose she is right? She's very intelligent and often said she didn't fear anyone enough to lie. Suppose I really am going to become somebody. Imagine."
At that moment, when I could still taste the red rice, I decided the time had come to stop my dangerous habits like smoking, drinking, and cursing. Imagine. I might really become somebody. Someday.
Source: http://www.oprah.com/relationships/Maya-Angelous-Mother-An-Excerpt-from-Mom--Me--Mom/1
Student Response:
For Maya Angelou, food has an important role because it identifies the social classes between the rich and the poor. In the beginning, the landlady, Mrs. Jefferson, was kind and generous enough and "...insisted on providing dinner for her tenants". Maya couldn't afford to buy any other food because "there was no money in (Maya's) budget for restaurant food" so she had to eat Mrs. Jefferson's unappetizing meals. The food shows the social class differences because of how the actual cooking is done and what ingredients each one of them use.
Mrs. Jefferson's food had an, "unidentifiable piece of meat hidden among the pasta" while Maya describes Mrs. Baxter's dish as "Two large portions of rice (which) sated my appetite... a dish that made (Maya) long for a larger stomach so that (she) could eat two more helpings."
The way Maya describes the food helps to identify the social classes because the food's description shows how Maya is fond of her mother, even though she really appreciates Mrs.Jefferson's meals.
We knew that Maya appreciated both Mrs. Jefferson and Mrs. Baxter but she describes Mrs. Jefferson's food negatively and Mrs. Baxter's food as heavenly.
Sample Response to Food as a Symbol:
In her memoir, "The Nicest Thing a Mother (or Anyone) Can Say", Maya Angelou uses food as a symbol of powerful family tradition, comparing and contrasting two food memories that were meaningful to her for different reasons. The two dishes represent a dichotomy of her life, her current situation as a determined young woman struggling to provide for her son and the safe haven of her home life, one she is inspired to regain by her own merit.
As a twenty-two-year-old single mother living in San Francisco, Angelou begins the story by describing the everyday dinners prepared by her kind but culinarily-disastrous landlady as an "unidentifiable piece of meat hidden among… pasta", explaining that she often had no choice but Ms. Jefferson's food to eat, and no money in her budget for restaurant food. She describes herself and her son as "loyal, if often unhappy, diners at Chez Jefferson".
Angelou continues on to describe her mother and her positive impact on her life during this time, as Vivian Baxter "picked up Guy twice a week and… fed him peaches and cream and hot dogs", living in "another large Victorian house… filled with Gothic, heavily carved furniture". Angleou describes her mother's red rice in more savory detail than anything else in the passage, as "a tall mound of glistening red rice (my favorite food in the entire world) decorated with finely minced parsley…emblazoned on my tongue forever". Not only does she find comfort in this special dish, she associates it with morality and inspiration. She says, "when I could still taste the red rice, I decided the time had come to stop my dangerous habits… Imagine. I might really become somebody. Someday."
Student Response:
For Maya Angelou, food has an important role because it identifies the social classes between the rich and the poor. In the beginning, the landlady, Mrs. Jefferson, was kind and generous enough and "...insisted on providing dinner for her tenants". Maya couldn't afford to buy any other food because "there was no money in (Maya's) budget for restaurant food" so she had to eat Mrs. Jefferson's unappetizing meals. The food shows the social class differences because of how the actual cooking is done and what ingredients each one of them use.
Mrs. Jefferson's food had an, "unidentifiable piece of meat hidden among the pasta" while Maya describes Mrs. Baxter's dish as "Two large portions of rice (which) sated my appetite... a dish that made (Maya) long for a larger stomach so that (she) could eat two more helpings."
The way Maya describes the food helps to identify the social classes because the food's description shows how Maya is fond of her mother, even though she really appreciates Mrs.Jefferson's meals.
We knew that Maya appreciated both Mrs. Jefferson and Mrs. Baxter but she describes Mrs. Jefferson's food negatively and Mrs. Baxter's food as heavenly.
Sample Response to Food as a Symbol:
In her memoir, "The Nicest Thing a Mother (or Anyone) Can Say", Maya Angelou uses food as a symbol of powerful family tradition, comparing and contrasting two food memories that were meaningful to her for different reasons. The two dishes represent a dichotomy of her life, her current situation as a determined young woman struggling to provide for her son and the safe haven of her home life, one she is inspired to regain by her own merit.
As a twenty-two-year-old single mother living in San Francisco, Angelou begins the story by describing the everyday dinners prepared by her kind but culinarily-disastrous landlady as an "unidentifiable piece of meat hidden among… pasta", explaining that she often had no choice but Ms. Jefferson's food to eat, and no money in her budget for restaurant food. She describes herself and her son as "loyal, if often unhappy, diners at Chez Jefferson".
Angelou continues on to describe her mother and her positive impact on her life during this time, as Vivian Baxter "picked up Guy twice a week and… fed him peaches and cream and hot dogs", living in "another large Victorian house… filled with Gothic, heavily carved furniture". Angleou describes her mother's red rice in more savory detail than anything else in the passage, as "a tall mound of glistening red rice (my favorite food in the entire world) decorated with finely minced parsley…emblazoned on my tongue forever". Not only does she find comfort in this special dish, she associates it with morality and inspiration. She says, "when I could still taste the red rice, I decided the time had come to stop my dangerous habits… Imagine. I might really become somebody. Someday."
No comments:
Post a Comment