On the days that I took my mom to chemotherapy, we had a routine after her appointments of getting kebabs and naan for lunch. She would always insist on ordering a lot of food, even though she didn’t have much of an appetite or sense of taste at that point. I think she enjoyed the ritual of sitting together and talking, and, like all moms, I think it gave her joy to see her children well-fed. The meal would always end with a good deal of leftovers, and she would ask the waiter for two take out containers – one she would pack for my dad and one she would send home with me for my husband.
I remember there was one night in the hospital, when she was really sick and I was staying with her overnight. My brother-in-law came by late just to sit next to her and pray. Her dinner tray was still in the room, untouched. She insisted that he have the little of cup of ice cream that was on the tray, explaining that it was really very good.
I cannot pretend to begin to express what my mom meant to me or how sorely I miss her presence. She was a tiny person with a big personality. She was funny and dramatic, bossy at times, always opinionated, and she gave me the best advice. But when I think of the main characteristic that defined who she was as a person, I think of her generosity of love and affection.
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Years ago, I went with my mom to the mosque one night for evening prayers. A new girl who had just married into our community was there with her mother-in-law. After the prayers, my mom went up to her and pulled her down into a tight embrace, calling her “our nuthon bou” (new bride). This girl probably had no idea who my mom was and I could tell that she was a little reserved. As we were leaving the mosque, I sort of lectured my mom on not hugging people who didn’t know her. My mom explained how difficult it could be to get married and not know anyone in a family or community, and she hoped that one day when my sister and I got married that some auntie would love and adhor us in the same way.
I still feel my mom’s generosity of love when I’m around my brother and sister. My brother, who in my mind is still just the baby, is always checking in on his older sisters to see how we are doing. And my sister, who is now ‘the mom’ for all of us, has taken charge – making sure we are all taken care of, not only her siblings but also our dad. We are always generous with our ‘I love you’s’ to each other. There was never room for sibling rivalries in our home.
I’m thankful she was my mother. Even though she is gone, I know that her love was unconditional and it is undying and that it will sustain us entirely.
I love you Amu, you are the reason my heart beats.
With my mom in Cape Cod, 1990
Remember a few years ago when 
This salad is not only gorgeous, it’s lick-your-plate-good. I can confirm this because I not only licked my plate, I also licked my husband’s plate. Also please make this Dijon dressing, it’s so easy and so so so so good.
Today, June 6, is National Doughnut Day, allegedly. I don’t have a calendar that marks all these food holidays but Facebook and Instragram told me it’s National Doughnut Day, and who am I to argue?* To celebrate this auspicious occassion, I wanted to share my recent doughnut experiences outside of the NYC area.
Bake What Your Mama Gave Ya! 