I have a lot of memories, obviously, of my mother growing up, but the one that comes to mind this morning is of our cooking together in our small kitchen in Houston. When I was 6 or 7 years old I had a Betty Crocker cookbook for kids. I remember picking a recipe to make for dad (and the rest of us) for dinner. It involved rolling chicken in melted butter and then in crushed potato chips. That was it, I think. Oh, we did bake it after that. Or maybe we (she) fried it. Memory gets fuzzy on this detail, but I still remember how the melted butter and chicken felt and how the pieces of potato chips stuck to my fingers.
Thanks, mom, for starting me out on my love of cooking at an early age. Happy Mother's Day. I love you.