Mom’s Little Helper - by Dom Capossela

What was the magical moment that propelled me into the turbulence of the restaurant business?

My mother was not one for entertaining;
her nerves often got the better of her.
So hosting a lunch for three of her closest friends in our tiny apartment was a once in a lifetime occasion.

But she was a brilliant cook,
able to make the humble Tuna Fish Sandwich fit  for a meal to serve Julia Child.
On this special day, mom reserved the final thirty minutes before her guests’ arrival to execute the recipe.

To her dismay, the guests arrived a half-hour early.
My mother tried to smile, offering her guests some feeble excuse for her glistening eyes.
I was only eight but could see her anguish.

Without being asked,
without having had any prior hands-on experience other than
casually watching my mother at work,
I began to gather the ingredients she would be needing
when she finished welcoming her guests, getting them drinks, non-alcoholic, and making them comfortable.

Tuna Fish, can opener, celery, red onion, olives, lettuce, oil, mayonnaise, salt, pepper, a bowl, a knife,
I hope you’re recording this for your own use,
and of course the loaf of fresh, crusty Italian bread out of the oven for a scant hour.
I know. I had gone out to buy it.

I finished the mis en place but
Mom was still entertaining, so I figured to begin the chop.
You get the point.
I prepared then blended the ingredients; and stuffed the sandwiches.

You should have heard the oohs and ahs
when the guests bit into the sandwiches.
I never forgot how good it felt to bring pleasure to people through food.
I was eight and from then on a regular kitchen helper.

Who knew that in the future,
after high school,
after a BA from BU and
an LLB from BC,
after I passed the Massachusetts bar exam,
I would spend the next 30 years of my life operating a restaurant?
Who could recognize the magic in that spontaneous embrace of mother’s apprentice, or
as we called into in the trade, cook’s ass?