A Pinch of This

My Mother never wrote Her recipes down. But hands down, She was the best cook I've ever known. Every meal She made was indescribable. I used to joke with my friends that they'd do just about anything to eat Her cooking, and every time they tasted it, they couldn't deny it.

One of Her special meals, which was always in high demand whenever the weather changed or someone got sick, was Her homemade chicken soup.

It was always the same. Excellent.

She never wrote the recipe down, and She didn't need to. Her cooking was unmistakable.

Sadly, She passed away, which was a huge loss for everyone. But before She did, She taught me how to make Her soup.

When She tasted it, She jokingly slapped me on the back of the head and said She wouldn't be making it for me anymore because mine tasted just like Hers.

Coming from Her, that was about the best compliment I could have received.

Now, when I miss Her or when the kids are sick, I make that soup for my family. It's a happy, comforting memory, and one we still get to share.

The last time I made it, my brother couldn't stop talking about it. He called me after his third bowl. There wasn't a drop left.

That soup didn't even see daylight.

It Was Never on Paper

Most families have a dish like that, one that lives in somebody's hands rather than on a recipe card. Ask for the recipe and the answer comes back as a pinch of this and a handful of that, which is charming right up until the day that person isn't in the kitchen anymore.

My Mother's soup is still on our table because She took the time to teach me, and She taught me well enough that mine tasted like Hers.

I don't take that lightly.

Passing It On

I've thought about that quite a bit over the years.

We all learn things along the way, often from people who took the time to show us. Sometimes we remember the lesson but forget how much it meant to have someone there to teach us.

And as we become more experienced, it's easy to assume that what we know is common knowledge.

It isn't always.

Something that takes you five minutes to explain might save someone else weeks of frustration. And sometimes the smallest bit of advice makes the biggest difference because it comes at exactly the right time.

That's something I appreciate about a good community. People bring their own experiences and skills. Nobody knows everything, but everyone has something worth sharing.

And helping someone doesn't mean doing everything for them. Sometimes the best thing you can do is show them how, then give them the opportunity to do it themselves.

My Mother didn't need to write Her recipe down for me. She showed me, and I remembered.

What We Leave Behind

I don't know how many bowls of soup my Mother made throughout Her life. I couldn't begin to count them.

But I do know that when I make Her soup, my family gets to enjoy something that came from Her, even though She's no longer here to make it Herself.

And when my brother called me after that third bowl, I knew exactly what he was talking about. He remembered that taste as well as I did.

That's what stays with me.